


Marriage In Convenience

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fake Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14936852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: Aramis needs a visa. Ana needs a husband. Solution - simple. Right?Except Ana has a girlfriend, and Athos needs a dance tutor, and when you're talking about people's real lives, nothing is simple.Especially not the tango.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thimblerig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/gifts).



> Okay, this, once again, came about because I was talking to Thimblerig about Japanese fake weddings, and somehow it mutated into this. I thank her for handholding and incitement, but make no apologies :)
> 
> You will note that there are hints of other canons in this story, notably _Love and Other Disasters_ , and a hint of Marc Warren's character in _State of Play_
> 
> I learned all I know about tango from Monsieur Google :)

Constance checked her phone as soon as it peeped at her.

_Just leaving Ninon’s office now_

_How did it go?_

_:( Tell you when I get home_

_So sorry, love. See you soon_

***********************

Constance beat Ana back to the apartment by a mere ten minutes, and was still damp from the shower when her girlfriend came in. Ana was still perfectly groomed and composed, the only sign that things were not well being the tiniest line in her otherwise smooth and lovely forehead.

Constance went over and took her in her arms. “Bad news?” She kissed Ana’s cheek, then took her hand and led her to the couch. “Tea?”

“Please.” Constance sat beside her. “And yes, bad news. Ninon says I _might_ be able to argue that there’s nothing in Grandfather’s rules about still being married when I claim, so long as I _was_ married, but she says Philippe will argue that his intent was clear, and as a fervent Catholic, he would not have agreed that my being divorced counted. It would cost so much money and time. It’s not worth it. She said I would end up hating my family and everything about my life. I can’t do that to you, let alone me.”

“But ten million euros, love.”

Ana shrugged. “It’s only money. I’ll inherit from my parents, I earn a good salary, and you do all right with the dance studio, so...I can live without the hassle. If Philippe wants to be greedy and try to hurt me, then that’s his choice. I refuse to sink to his level, and he can only hurt me if I let it. I won’t.”

Constance nuzzled at her cheek. “You’re such good person, darling. Which is more than I can say for your brother,” she added with a growl. Philippe d’Espana was more than rich enough in his own right. To screw his sister out of her share of a trust fund set up for all the grandchildren was petty and mean and beyond her ability to understand or forgive. The money wasn’t as important as the fact this bastard would get away with his nastiness.

“Oh well. The worst punishment for Philippe is being him.” Ana followed Constance out to the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Constance’s waist as she fiddled with the tea makings.

“How about Aramis? You could marry him.”

A month ago, Ana had met a young Argentinian photographer through an introduction from Porthos, and had become friends with him, not least because she enjoyed speaking Spanish with him. Aramis was in France on a work visa, but his employer, Jean Marsac, the man who’d brought him to Europe with promises of a three-year contract, had turned out to be a total flake, and unable to offer him the length of employment he’d originally agreed.

Aramis wanted to stay in France where there were so many more opportunities for someone with his talent, but it looked like he would have to leave the country within three months. Since Marsac had now abandoned him completely, Aramis was scrabbling around for photoshoots anywhere he could, just to earn enough to keep body and soul together.

“Because my life isn’t complicated enough,” Ana said, her smile against Constance’s neck tickling her.

“Hey, you suggested it first! How complicated would it be? You get married, and then you never see him again. He gets his visa and you get more money than you can poke a stick at.”

“Darling, I’d have to be married to him for at least two years, it would have to look real to outsiders—and don’t forget, Philippe suspects you’re more than my flatmate—and, no.”

Constance twisted in Ana’s arms to face her. “Think about it. You could help him, and he really needs help, and we could have him live here, so no change is needed—”

“You couldn’t stay here. Philippe would know it was fake.”

“Then I’ll move out. Wait, I know, I could marry Athos!”

Ana burst out laughing. “Athos? Are you insane?”

“Why not? He doesn’t care a bit about marrying for real again, and he’s not with anyone now. You and I can slip away any time we want and he’d cover for us, you know he would. And I bet he’d enjoy sticking it to bloody Louis for that rotten trick of his.” Ana’s husband had made sure the divorce went through before Ana’s thirtieth birthday, which was damn nasty of him. Constance was certain Anne de Winter was behind it.

“Maybe. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to drink tea, make love with you, then go out and _dance._ Aramis is going to be there and he promised to tango with us.”

Inheritances were quickly forgotten as Constance remembered what lay in store for them. “Ooh, I can’t wait. _Monsieur_ Snake-Hips better be on his best form. Athos will be so rude if he’s no good.”

“Is Charles going to be there too?”

“So he says. Lucie’s wild to go, and I think Porthos muttered something about it, though I don’t know if he has Jules this weekend or not. Elodie has wanted to go ever since I told her about Aramis and his tango boast.”

“Poor, poor Aramis,” Ana said, smiling. “He’s going to be on display.”

“He can cope,” Constance said without a gram of sympathy in her tone. “He can’t be that beautiful and not be used to people looking at him.”

***********************

Athos sipped his wine while rubbing his right temple with his free hand, and wondered why he had let Constance talk him into this. He loved dancing, obviously, and being in a gay club was not a problem either. It was just the combination that sucked.

Actually, if he was truthful, it was being in a gay dance club surrounded by happy couples which was the real problem. He loved Constance and liked Ana, Porthos was his best male friend, and Constance’s brother, d’Artagnan, was both a good friend and a business partner.

Individually, or even with their significant others, Athos liked their company just fine. But sitting with Constance and Ana, Porthos and Elodie, d’Artagnan and Lucie, watching them be affectionate and loving with each other, talking about the things couples did with each other, made him want to stick a toothpick in his eye.

Or at least drink something harder than wine. He refrained, but couldn’t muster more than a glare when anyone spoke to him.

All this because Porthos had a new friend whom Ana liked, who could apparently dance a tango. Which was really not very impressive, since Athos was in easy arm’s reach of three of the best dancers he knew, and he himself had some modest ability in that direction. Just because this Aramis was Argentinian, didn’t mean he could dance better than they did.

Constance put her head on his shoulder. “He shouldn’t be much longer. Porthos says he was caught up on a shoot.”

“I’ll give him half an hour.”

“Fine. But while we’re waiting, I’m going to dance.” She took Ana’s hand and dragged her, laughing up onto the dance floor to join the cha-cha-ing couples.

“Now that’s a good idea,” Porthos said to Elodie. “It’s our night off. Let’s make the most of it. D’Artagnan?”

“Sure thing. Athos?”

For a moment, Athos thought the lad was inviting him to dance, but no, he was just checking his friend was all right to sit on his own. Athos waved him and Lucie onto the floor. He only hoped someone was keeping an eye out for this mysterious Hispanic, because good-looking dark-haired, dark-eyed men weren’t exactly unusual in France.

He was scowling at the dancers when a figure loomed over him and said, “You must be Athos.”

He spilled his wine in shock, and glared up at the smiling stranger holding a drink in one hand and extending the other in greeting. “Who are you and what do you want?” he snapped as he brushed at the drops of wine on his sleeve.

The man withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said with a Spanish lilt to his French. “The doorman said you were Athos de la Fère. Porthos and Ana’s friend? I’m Aramis.”

“Oh. Yes. Please sit down, and yes, I’m Athos. They’re...out there.” Athos waved at the dance floor.

“Of course. Though it was you they wanted me to meet.” Aramis held out his hand once again and Athos shook it, before the man sat down at their table. “Sorry I’m late.”

Athos only grunted and sipped from his glass to hide his continued surprise. Good-looking Latin types weren’t uncommon in this club either. Staggeringly pretty men with eyes like dark pools reflecting firelight, and the long elegant hands of an artist? Not so much. “I hear you dance the tango.”

Another charming smile. “Of course.”

“A claim made by many, fulfilled by few.”

The smile slipped not a millimetre, but the fire in the brown eyes turned dangerous. “You doubt my word, _señor_?”

“No, no. Just not taking anything for granted.”

The cha cha ended and the familiar strains of [La Cumparsita](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xa7-7wzH_qg) sounded. “Perfect,” Aramis said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. “Shall I let you test my claim?”

Athos stood but didn’t take his hand. “The ladies are—”

“This is a gay club, yes?”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Athos took his hand and let Aramis lead him onto the floor. “Who’ll dance the following part?”

“I should think that is obvious.” Athos bridled at the implied insult, only to deflate as Aramis continued, “I will, of course. [Salon tango](http://www.verytangostore.com/salon-style.html), yes?”

And with that, Aramis waited for Athos to take his hand in the correct position and put his arm around his waist. Which he did.

As they took the first slow steps, Athos was glad he had bothered to wear proper shoes and somewhat decent pants. Aramis was a vision in tight white shirt, black trousers, and Cuban heels which put Athos at an even greater height disadvantage. He had, of course, danced with men many times before, and often with taller men, but Aramis’s perfect posture, the proud line of his spine, shamed Athos’s habitual slouch. He straightened up, and resolved to make a proper job of it.

A dance instructor sometimes had to partner someone new half a dozen times an hour, and Athos was usually resigned to accommodating someone of far less skill than himself, often with little physical grace. Even with someone who could dance well, there was always a few awkward moments of adjusting, and as tango was improvised, it was almost impossible to take a new partner and make it work immediately. So much depended on the follower reading the lead and the lead flowing with the follower. It took trust and knowledge.

So how could it be that Aramis moved with Athos like he could read his mind? And that Athos could so easily know what Aramis was about to do, and go with it? It was as if they had danced together for years, and nothing else but the tango in all that time. Even d’Artagnan, who was damn near as good as Athos, didn’t dance the tango this fluidly.

And d’Artagnan didn’t stare into Athos with eyes of burning coal for the entire [_tanda_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanda_\(milonga\)), as if this erotically charged performance could only end in sex—or death.

Not since....

Not since her, had he danced like this with anyone. But he could not confuse the two, when he had to look up at Aramis, and the lean muscles in Aramis’s back and the strength in his fingers were nothing like....

Nothing like her.

Aramis’s footwork was sleek and quick, nothing too outrageous, all done with supreme confidence. Dancing with a partner this good made a man feel taller, his shoulders wider, no matter what the partner’s gender. And all the time, Aramis looked at Athos like he was the only person—the only thing—in the entire universe, while Aramis’s legs darted in and out between Athos’s like dark little fish, impossible to catch.

After the third song, Aramis ended with a deep lunge, then came up straight and bowed to him with a little hand flourish. Athos bowed in return, his breath catching in his tight chest.

What the fuck had that been?

As the cortina played, Athos became aware his friends had stopped and moved off the floor to watch the two of them, and now a quiet flurry of applause broke his reverie. Aramis smiled at them and turned to him, clearly waiting for his assessment.

“Do you fence?” Athos blurted out.

Aramis blinked. “Er...badly. It was only once and a very long time ago. Why?”

“You should be able to fence, if you can dance like that.”

“Ah, okay? Was I all right, then?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. You know you’re good.”

Aramis relaxed. Porthos came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder. “You met Athos, I see.”

“Yes. He is very charming,” Aramis said with no obvious sign of sarcasm, although Porthos laughed at the ridiculous lie.

“Man, I have got to have some of that,” d’Artagnan said. “Dibs on the next dance.” Lucie jabbed in the ribs with her elbow. “Come on, Lucie, I need to learn how to move like that.”

“Not in a million years, brother,” Constance said quellingly. “And I claim the next dance after you.”

“Then me after her,” Ana said.

Aramis grinned, holding up his hands. “Ladies, gentlemen, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I only came here to dance the one dance.”

“To hell with that,” Porthos said, grabbing Aramis’s hand and dragging him onto the floor again. “Bugger d’Artagnan. I’m going next.”

“Hey!”

“Elodie? Make him shut up?” Porthos called over his shoulder.

Elodie turned to d’Artagnan and smiled at him. “Sorry. I think he’s beaten you. Lucie, want to join me for this one?”

“You’re on.”

“Hey!”

“You can have the next one, Charles,” Lucie said sweetly, before adding, “maybe.”

Constance and Ana followed them, leaving d’Artagnan with Athos.

D’Artagnan pouted. “So not fair.”

“Fortune favours the brave. And the speedy.” Athos signalled a waiter and asked for a brandy, and a wine for d’Artagnan. “I’m thinking of offering him a job.”

“Seriously?”

“He’s not good enough?”

“Of course he’s good enough. But he’s a photographer, Athos. Being a good dancer isn’t all there is to being a dance teacher.”

“Then he can teach you so you can teach it better.”

“Maybe. But does he know any other dances?”

Athos dismissed that with a wave. “You do know the others well enough. It’s the tango you need help with, and the one we get the most requests for.”

“You could teach me.”

“He’d be better.”

And then Athos would be able to shove two unwanted temptations together and let them deal with each other, leaving him in peace.

Or whatever passed for it.

***********************

Constance was intensely irritated to find her main emotion while watching Aramis expertly guide Ana around the floor during the rhumba, was jealousy.

Not envy of Ana being in Aramis’s strong and frankly gorgeous arms. Not desire to have Ana in her own arms.

No, she was jealous. And hurt. And she hated being jealous of anything. It was an emotion unworthy of her, and unattractive in anyone.

Porthos and Elodie had gone home, since the babysitting favour they had called in was only three hours’ duration. That left her with Athos, Charles and Lucie. Her brother and his lover were out on the floor, dancing.

That meant only Athos was there to watch her. She wished she knew he couldn’t read her expression, but of course he could. A man so closed in as Athos had to be acutely aware of social signals, so as not to give any away himself.

“I find brandy makes many ills bearable.”

She pursed her lips. “One, they usually make them worse, and two, if I drink, no one’s going to like what comes out of my mouth.”

“Ah.”

“Go on. Ask.”

“I don’t interfere in other people’s relationships. I’m not fit to.”

Well, that meant she had to tell him, didn’t she? “Ana’s grandfather’s trust won’t pay out because she’s not married. You know that.” Athos nodded. “But marrying me wouldn’t help, since the old bastard insisted it has to be a heterosexual marriage. Not that anyone’s asked me to marry them,” she added darkly. Oops, did she just say that out loud?

“Ah. But Ana is about to suggest Aramis marry her to solve his residency problem and her inheritance difficulty.”

She opened her mouth in surprise, then closed it. “It’s that obvious?”

“It is now. And you resent that he can marry for expediency, and it be a solution, and you can’t for love, because it won’t be.”

“I mean, we haven’t even talked about it,” she wailed. “We’ve only been properly together ten months, and she’s still hurting so much over fucking Louis de Bourbon and his poxy doxy...er....” She looked at him guiltily from under her eyebrows for the possible offence and the definite crime of mentioning that woman.

“Don’t imagine,” he said evenly, “there is anything you could call her that I haven’t done in private or in public.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m being petty.”

“I don’t think so. Does this mean, were I to ask you if Aramis could become a casual tutor at least in the tango, you would find that uncomfortable?”

She straightened up. “God, no. That’s a great idea. Him being a tutor isn’t an issue. Him being married to my girlfriend while I move out and pretend not to love her, is. Don’t fancy being my beard, do you?” She gave him a wan smile. “I know, dating is so your favourite thing.”

Athos regarded her steadily. “Isn’t your relationship with Ana well known? Least of all, to her ex’s new lover?”

“Suspected, not known. We’re discreet. Hooking up with you would be natural enough, seeing how we’re already good friends. But it’s not a serious idea.”

“It is, or you wouldn’t have mentioned it. May I think about it?”

“Of course, darling.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Sorry for being such a downer.”

“In the circumstances, you’re being quite tolerant. Does Ana need the money?”

“No, not at all. It’s just her brother being a greedy evil shit and we both hate that he’s following his grandfather’s homophobic plans to hurt his sister. I’d like to help Aramis. He’s such a love.”

“He’s a very nice man, from what I can tell, but, Constance, you’re not obliged to turn your lives upside-down to help him.”

“No. He might not even agree.”

“This is true.” He pushed his glass away. “I’m leaving. If Aramis is interested in seeing what we do, you can tell him when we’re open. If he’s not, there’s no skin off my nose.” He stood, then bent to kiss her cheek. “See you tomorrow, my dear.”

“Yes. Thank you, Athos.”

He gave her a brief smile, and left. What would she do without him? What would she and Charles do without him?

The rhumba ended, and Ana and Aramis returned to the table, Ana all flushed and smiling. “Where’s Athos?”

“Left a couple of minutes ago. He knew we had things to talk about.” The look Ana gave Aramis told Constance she had already broached the idea with him.

“Ah. Maybe we should all have another drink.”

“Actually,” Aramis said, “this is a topic for a clear head and a night’s sleep on it. I have no wish to interfere with the love between two people, especially not two women as charming and beautiful as you.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “He’ll go far.”

“Did I offend you?” he asked, eyebrows raised in consternation.

“No, no. Um, Athos wondered if you’d be interested in doing some tutoring in your spare time. In the tango, for a start. For us. Our studio.”

“I’d be honoured. As for spare time, I have too much of it.” His pretty mouth drooped sadly.

“Then why don’t you come along tomorrow to see what we’re up to. And then the three of us could have lunch or dinner together, if you’re free?”

“I would like that.” He pulled out his phone and they exchanged numbers. Constance sent him the address and hours. He stood and made a little bow. “Good. Now, I shall say Goodnight, lovely ladies, and hopefully see you tomorrow?”

“Goodnight,” Constance said, forcing a pleasant smile on her face.

Ana had no trouble being nice. “It was so much fun. We should do it again.”

“Yes, I would like that. Chau!”

“Mmmm,” Ana said, leaning against her. “He’s so pretty and now I’m horny.”

“I thought we were trying to be discreet,” Constance hissed, moving a little way away from her.

“Oops, yes. Are you angry with me, darling?”

How could she be angry when Ana turned those big eyes on her? “No. Cranky with life. Do you want a drink?”

“No, I want to dance with my best girl,” Ana breathed huskily against her ear. “Come home and I’ll be your private dancer.”

Constance grinned. “Oh, yes please. Let me tell Charles we’re leaving.”

Ana gave her a low-lidded look. “But quickly.”

Constance said her farewells very fast indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salon tango - put simply, it's [ the original tango](http://www.verytangostore.com/salon-style.html), not the posh ballroom style (this is [a gross simplification](http://www.tangoconcepts.com/blog/2008/02/different-types-of-tango.html), by the way.) It differs from ballroom tango mainly in how much improvisation it includes and the lack of formal steps, and also (importantly for this story) traditional tango dancers dance chest to chest, while International (ballroom) tango has the dancers joined at the hip.
> 
> Tango has a [strong gay history](https://qz.com/757223/the-history-of-the-tango-is-actually-kind-of-gay/) as well as a strong modern gay following.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis woke late, having failed to get to sleep much before four am, and so was much tardier to Le Garrison dance studio than he planned to be. Fortunately his shame-faced entrance was barely noted by Athos, who only briefly glanced his way, or his students, doing a rhumba.

D’Artagnan was leading a small group in a waltz in one corner of the room, while Constance was seated at a table near the door. “Oh, you made it!” she said with a smile.

The room was eerily quiet, since the instructors and students were all wearing headphones. Aramis assumed this was so the two groups didn’t interfere with each other. Every so often Athos’s voice or d’Artagnan’s broke the silence. “Yes. Sorry, I’m late again.”

“No, you’re not. We didn’t make a time. Come and sit with me so you can watch.”

He took the chair next to her. “Where’s Ana?”

“Meeting me for lunch. Did you have a sleepless night?”

He groaned. “How did you know?”

“Because I didn’t sleep a wink. Or at least, that’s what Ana said when she woke me up.” Another charming smile. “A lot of things to think about.”

“Yes. Constance, I do not wish to cause harm to your relationship. My visa is not so important.”

“I know,” she said, patting his hand. “But if we can kill two birds with one stone, why not? Her brother really pisses me off.”

“The grandfather, I can understand, a little. The brother, no. To wage war on a sister or a brother is a much worse sin than loving the wrong gender. Which is not a sin at all,” he added hastily.

“The church says it is.”

“Jesus did not, and I only listen to him.”

Her dimples appeared. “I like your version. Now, just to explain—Saturdays, we run LGBT-friendly classes, so our students can choose to learn to lead or follow, or both, as they wish. I mean, all our classes are queer-friendly, but today, mixed sex couples have to dance with someone other than their partner.”

The class was pretty evenly divided between men and women, he noted. “Why don’t you have another female instructor?”

“Athos.”

“Athos doesn’t like women?”

She grimaced. “The opposite. Our last instructor was Sylvie, who was awesome. And he started going out with her. I thought they were definitely going to marry, or at least move in together, but the next thing I knew, she’d gone off to Canada, and Athos was back to being his usual, cheerful self.”

“By which you mean...not.”

“Exactly. We haven’t been able to replace her. I could murder him for that, if I didn’t love him so much.” She sighed. “But if you were willing to tutor Latin dances, the tango at least, which is our most popular, and you dance both parts, that would be great.”

“I am willing to try, but I have not taught dancing before. The last thing I taught was marksmanship, with a rifle.”

She sat back in surprise. “Oh. You were military?”

“Yes. I left the army three years ago, and began to shoot with a camera instead. I much prefer it.”

“I don’t blame you. Look, Athos is just finishing.”

His class turned from a group of adults all moving in the same rhythm, to a more disorganised bunch of milling, chatting people. Athos took off his headset and looked over at Aramis, so Aramis waved. Athos beckoned him to come over, which he did.

“Glad you could come. Everyone, if anyone wants to see Argentinian tango demonstrated, Aramis here is the best I’ve ever seen. Anyone interested?”

All the hands went up. “Athos, you’re too kind,” Aramis protested

“Rot,” Athos said, without looking at him or changing his expression. “Right. If you want to partner him, line up.” Athos handed Aramis his headset. “I’ll put the music on. We won’t do a full tanda each, or it’ll take all afternoon, but we’ll get through as many as we can before he drops, or you do.”

His students appeared to be used to his humour because they all grinned. “I’ll just check with d’Artagnan...ah, he’s finished now. Argentinian tango demonstration!” he called to d’Artagnan’s students. There was a rush to join the others lining up for Aramis’s attentions.

D’Artagnan wandered over. “This’ll be good,” he said, winking at the students.

“What have I got myself into?” Aramis groaned.

“Shouldn’t have been so impressive last night.”

Shortly afterwards, Aramis had a somewhat awkward young man in his arms as follower, while the students clustered at the edge of the studio to watch.

It wasn’t as bad as he feared. Athos gave commentary over the headphones while Aramis and his partner danced, pointed out the signals the two were or should have been getting and giving, and the steps being used. When the song ended, the young man was swapped for a tall woman and somewhat better and more confident dancer, taking the lead.

Aramis had to fight not to let Athos’s commentary distract him, and concentrate on the music. The problem was that Athos had such a lovely voice which made even dry technical points sound like foreplay.

“You’ll note that Aramis and Eve are dancing apilado, with a closed embrace and flat frame, which is useful for a crowded club. However, last night he and I danced studio style, which is open on the leader’s left side and has a circular frame. Studio gives you much more scope for expression, while still not being as obnoxious to other dancers as the ballroom style.”

Aramis’s partner smiled at that last remark. Aramis surmised it was not the first time Athos had made the crack.

After the eleventh song, Athos called a halt, to the disappointment of those students who had not had their turn. “I’m sorry, but the studio needs to be closed for an hour before the afternoon classes. I’m sure I can persuade Aramis to return to partner the rest of you, if you show him sufficient appreciation.” Which was the cue for extravagant applause, to which Aramis could only bow low and hide his blushes.

When the studio cleared, Aramis handed his headset back to Athos. “I wasn’t tired. I could have kept going.”

“I’m sure, but d’Artagnan and I have things to do. As do Constance and Ana.” Athos waved, and on turning around, Aramis realised Ana was now sitting with Constance at the table.

“What are you doing?” Aramis asked Athos.

“Fencing,” d’Artagnan said, grinning broadly, walking over and handing Athos an epée and a face mask.

“Really? Can I watch?”

Athos hesitated. “Perhaps another time.”

“Come on, Athos. He just did you a big favour,” d’Artagnan said.

“Weren’t you having lunch with the ladies?” Athos said to Aramis.

“We’re bringing our lunch back to watch,” Constance said. Aramis could have sworn that hadn’t been their original plan. “We can bring his back too. And yours.”

Athos shot her a look. “Very well. Aramis, please stay well clear. We will be using all the floor. Behind the desk is safest.”

“Of course.”

Constance gave Aramis an impish look as she and Ana left, and he wondered what she was up to. He heard the door lock. He guessed interruptions were unwelcome.

He took a seat. The two men saluted each other, and went at it.

For the next twenty minutes, Aramis watched the sparring with his mouth open in shock. He had seen fencing of course, both in person and on television, but that kind of thing was a genteel, short affair full of buzzers and rules and mats and padding to stop anyone getting even so much as a tiny bruise.

What Athos and d’Artagnan were up to, was nothing like this. What they were doing was lethal.

No wonder Athos didn’t want spectators.

No wonder d’Artagnan looked like he was about to take a hit of his favourite drug while he was waiting to start.

And no wonder Athos could dance like he did, if he could defeat every move d’Artagnan made, match and best him no matter where the young man went or what he did. Athos could read d’Artagnan like a book. No, more like a large print single piece of paper. There was no place to hide when Athos came for you.

The unlocking of the studio door interrupted the spell, and the fencers took their chance to have a break and drink water while Ana and Constance set food in the form of filled baguettes and coffee on the table. “No food on the floor or he’ll cut you,” Constance said to Aramis. “So will I.”

“Understood.”

D’Artagnan came over to steal a bite to eat, his expression changed from the intent would-be murderer Aramis had been watching, to a smiling puppy seeking approval. “Did you like it?”

“It was amazing. Dangerous, though.”

“Nah. Athos is careful and the swords aren’t sharp. Not really sharp,” he amended. “And they’re tipped, see?” He showed Aramis that there were in fact small guards on the ends to stop any actual puncturing. “You should learn.”

“I would love to. But I think you would be jealous of his time if I asked.”

“Probably,” d’Artagnan admitted with a grin. “But then I would have someone else to practice with. Porthos fences too, but he doesn’t like these piddly things, as he calls them.”

“Yeah, he prefers a bloody great machete,” Constance said.

“It’s called a schiavona,” d’Artagnan corrected, sounding as if it wasn’t the first time.

“Where did Athos go?” Constance asked.

“Toilet. Give me something to eat, sis? I’m starving.”

“Five minutes after breakfast, you’re starving,” she said, handing him over a sandwich. “Aramis, be careful if this pair try and suck you into their mad hobby.”

“The mad hobby you’re desperate to try yourself,” Ana said.

Constance flushed. “You weren’t supposed to tell them.”

“Why not? It’s not a male-only sport.”

“You want to learn? I’ll teach you,” d’Artagnan said eagerly.

“Not you. I want to learn from the real master.”

“Hey!”

Constance stuck her tongue out. Aramis hid his grin behind his baguette.

***********************

Though Aramis didn’t have to stay to talk to Ana, he did, until classes finished at five. With one eye on the three instructors and their students as they took on different groups and dances, Aramis managed to agree to a marriage with Ana that served both their purposes without offending either of their morals.

He insisted on no church ceremony to follow the civil one. “God should not be mocked, and I will make no false vows.”

“Of course not,” Ana said. “And you don’t mind moving into my apartment?”

“No, but what about Constance?”

“She’s going to move into Athos’s place. It’s not that far from mine, and he has lots of room.”

“He doesn’t mind?”

She shrugged. “They’ve shared before. There’ll be lots of visits, of course.”

“Of course. And, er...if I should find someone?”

Her delicate eyebrows drew together. “That could be a problem. Are you looking for a partner?”

“I’m not not looking for one.”

“Ah. I didn’t even think about that. Could you perhaps give monogamy a try for six months before you discreetly cheat on me?”

Aramis didn’t care for that way of putting things, but perhaps it was best to be blunt. “I promise I will do nothing to endanger your plans, or mine. If I am attracted to someone else, I will...talk to you?”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask. I can claim from the trust six months after I marry. Your residency application will take two years after the wedding, but a long-stay visa can be applied for almost immediately. I suppose as long we’re still technically married at the end of two years, even if you are seeing someone else, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s my risk.”

“It is.” She made a face. “I wish I could marry Constance instead.”

“You can. My visa is not your problem.”

“I know, but the trust, and Philippe...am I being very silly?” she asked him, staring at him with astonishingly blue eyes.

He could not give her anything but honesty. “I think so long as you are very clear why you are doing this...and that I am not in fact your responsibility...and you are very careful to protect your dear Constance...then it’s okay.”

“I would never hurt her,” she said, suddenly fierce. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I only regret I didn’t meet her ten years ago, instead of my worthless ex.”

“Then make sure she knows that, and never has a reason to doubt it.”

“I won’t. And we can double date with her and Athos, or d’Artagnan and Lucie. Just an ordinary married couple going out with other ordinary couples.”

“Of course,” he said, grinning in response to her smile.

D’Artagnan’s class finished at four. “Want to go downstairs for coffee and wait for the others?” he said to Ana when he came over.

“I’ll stay and watch Constance, thank you. But Aramis, you and Charles should get to know each other.”

“Yeah, Aramis, come on. I’ll even pay.”

“Well, how can I refuse?” Aramis said. “Oh, I forgot to give you money for lunch!” he said to Ana.

“It’s fine. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with.”

“You could give it to me?” d’Artagnan said, then deftly ducked a slap as if he had done it before. “Quick, let’s get out of here, away from the mean women.”

No wonder he had practice dodging slaps, Aramis thought.

The café was clearly one that d’Artagnan knew well, and he greeted the staff as he came in like they were old friends. “Guys, this is Aramis. He might be going to teach the tango for us.”

One of the women looked Aramis up and down. “How much are lessons? I’ll take a dozen.” Her friends laughed.

“For you, pretty lady, they’re free,” Aramis said, giving her a little bow, which made them all laugh again.

“Shhh,” d’Artagnan said loudly. “You’ll send us broke. Coffee?”

“Tea, please. Green.”

Over their drinks, d’Artagnan wanted to know about his photography, but Aramis was more eager to talk about his business partner, Athos. “How long have you known him?”

“Eight years. Constance danced all through school—we both did—and while she was doing her degree, she applied to work for him as a dance tutor, and once she graduated, she rented a room from him for three years. I did the same thing while I was doing my Bachelor’s. I was only in high school when I first met him. I thought he was such an ogre, but he’s really nice if you can get past the grumpiness.”

“Ah. Is he depressed? Or shy, perhaps?”

“Neither. Just angry at life. He has reason.” The lad’s mouth turned down. “His wife really fucked him over.”

“Wife? He was married?”

“Yeah. Young, too. He was still at Uni, doing a graduate degree in law. He was gonna be a lawyer like his dad. But then his wife decided to have an affair with Athos’s younger brother, and when Athos found out, he confronted him, like ‘how could you, bro?’ The brother took off all upset in their dad’s car, wrapped it around a tree, and he was killed instantly.”

“Madre de Dios!” No wonder Athos was gloomy.

“I know, right? So he divorces the wife, quits his studies, leaves the family estate and buggers off around Europe and Canada for three years. He learned to dance some of the fun things his parents would never let him have lessons for, and when he came back to Paris, he bought a building, had Porthos design the upper floors into a studio and apartments, then paid tutors until he was good enough to teach himself. And when Constance was good enough, she joined him, and then I did.”

“So, wait, the studio is his? It’s not a partnership?”

D’Artagnan looked a little offended. “No, it is. I’m the brains of the outfit.” Aramis must have shown his disbelief. “It’s true. I’m the one who came up with the headphones idea, so we could teach two classes at once. Three, if we have to.”

“Ah. That is a good idea.”

D’Artagnan grinned, relaxing. “Thanks. We’re all full partners, and Porthos is an investor too. There’s another studio, d’Essart's, which Athos started up in Rennes, and we sometimes go there to do special weekend workshops. He doesn’t pay himself a salary though. He’s rich as Croesus, he says. All these people with money and I’m poor as a mouse.” His smirk gave the lie to that. He folded his arms. “Okay, now you know all his secrets, you can spill yours.”

“I have no secrets.”

“That’s what they all say,” d’Artagnan said, looking smug.

***********************

One of the things that Constance found compelling about Ana was her ability to plan carefully, and her close, almost obsessive attention to detail. As soon as Aramis agreed to the marriage idea, Ana began to prepare the ground. Tweets, posts on Facebook about a cute guy she’d met. Pictures of the three of them out at clubs, then without Constance. Hints of things getting serious. Photos shared with friends. Breadcrumbs to which she could point to show how the thing had come to be

She had allowed three months to progress from the start of the ‘relationship’ to the wedding. Constance would only move out just before the marriage, but she had also been putting out hints and photos of herself with Athos which could be seen as either friendship or a little more. She didn’t want to pressure him, however happy he was to help. The hard bit would be after she left Ana’s apartment and Aramis moved in.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Aramis. She did, very much. Not only was he a wonderful dancer, he was also kind, smart, helpful, and very easy on the eye. Porthos was delighted that his friend was working with Athos, and d’Artagnan was slavering at the idea of Aramis beginning fencing lessons with the two of them.

The problem was that she did like Aramis. And so did Ana. A lot. She was bi, like Constance, and Aramis was almost exactly Ana’s type in men. And Aramis was incredibly charming and flirty, apparently completely unconsciously. He flirted with everyone, men and women.

Everyone except Athos, that was. Charles had told Aramis Athos’s sad history, and, to Constance’s irritation, passed on Athos’s determination not to become entangled emotionally or sexually again. Aramis was remarkably restrained around their business partner now.

“That’s private stuff,” she’d scolded her big-mouthed brother.

“It’s not like he couldn’t have guessed it from the way Athos behaves.”

“That’s not the bloody point. Athos is entitled to his secrets.”

Charles had shrugged. The damage was done, whatever damage was to be done.

Constance couldn’t scold Ana for letting Aramis flirt with her. For one, it wasn’t her place, and two, it would show her up as being a jealous cow, and she refused to do it. But Athos guessed she was bothered, just by watching her watching Ana and Aramis dance. Or talk. Or walk next to each other.

“If you can’t trust her, you should break up with her,” he said one night after classes. Ana and Aramis had gone out before them to be seen at a bar together.

“I do trust her. I trust him too, I think. I just...they just...look so good together. Like it’s meant to be or something.”

“They’re acting, Constance.”

“They’re like that when we’re alone,” she snapped.

To her surprise he took her into a hug. Athos was hardly the most physically affectionate man on the planet, but when he was, it was lovely. And made her cry.

He held her until she stopped sobbing. “Does she know how hard this is on you?” he murmured.

“I try not to show anything. I agreed to it, Athos. I was the one pushing this to beat her brother.”

“She doesn’t want to hurt you. You should tell her.”

“But then she’ll think I don’t trust her!”

“It’s the situation,” he said, stepping back a little and stroking her hair back behind her ear. “Watching the woman you love pretend to be falling for an attractive man is bound to bring up all kinds of insecurities.”

“I want this to work. I can’t discourage her because I’m pathetic.”

“Why don’t I have a word with Aramis? He’s very sensitive to your welfare. He might be able to....”

She sniffled. “Be less Aramis?”

Athos smiled. “Yes. At least in private.”

“If you think it will help. Please don’t say anything to her. And ask him not to either. God, I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Constance, after all these years knowing you, do you really imagine I can’t work out what’s wrong just by looking at you?”

She poked him in the chest. “This? This is why you should be my real boyfriend. You’re the only man I’ve ever met who can do that.” Her boyfriend at Uni certainly couldn’t. Jacques had had his head permanently up his arse.

“I suspect you would find the reality somewhat lacking,” he said dryly. “Now, go wash your face, and we can close up. I’ll talk to Aramis the next time I see him, which will be tomorrow.”

She sniffed hard, and nodded. “Ana’s going to drop the ‘news’ about the engagement tomorrow, since it’s been two months. Her brother will definitely be sniffing around.”

“Then we have to make sure he has lots of tasty and tempting red herrings to smell.”

She suspected Athos rather enjoyed poking Ana’s brother in the nose. She would too, but only if the ‘poke’ was an actual punch.

***********************

Athos had a Facebook account, which he hated, but which he needed to run the two studios’ pages, since such things were apparently indispensable in the twenty-first century. He only personally followed a handful of friends, so Ana’s announcement about the ‘engagement’ dropped into his mailbox the morning after he’d spoken to Constance and tried to allay her fears.

He ached for her. He knew exactly what being betrayed felt like, and though he thought it highly unlikely Ana d’Espana would ever do that to Constance, he was cynical enough to never say never when it came to people. He didn’t know Ana or Aramis that well, and the depths to which some lovers would sink could never surprise him.

Aramis was becoming a Garrison fixture, and already d’Essart’s wanted to run a Latin dance weekend with Aramis and Athos as the two main attractions. Athos had already cautiously agreed, subject to Aramis’s availability. The man had won a few more photography contracts, fortunately—no thanks to his erstwhile friend and employer, Marsac, who needed a kick in the arse, so Porthos said. Athos tended to agree. But Aramis still had most evenings free and his appearance at a class was considered a highlight by almost all of the students. Enrolments had jumped after the first month, once word had got around about his skill.

Skill and looks and charm. Aramis was simply delightful to be around, and drew men and women to him in equal numbers. Constance’s concerns were not foolish at all, considering.

So talking to him about Ana was a favour Athos was glad to do for Constance’s sake, though he had been avoiding personal conversations with Aramis ever since he’d agreed to the marriage plan and to tutor. It was hard enough watching him in action on the studio floor, and it took a powerful act of will to concentrate on the teaching side of it instead of standing there with his tongue hanging out in wanton need as Aramis flaunted his perfect body and its preternaturally elegant moves.

At least d’Artagnan acted the fool often enough to allow Athos to temper his desire with irritation. Aramis had, unfortunately, no such bad habits. He’d even taken to fencing like one born to it, and had threatened to teach d’Artagnan how to shoot. Constance had yet to hear of that brilliant plan.

So Athos screwed the bolts down on his libido, and ramped up his ‘Concerned Friend’ mode to eleven, before asking if Aramis had a few minutes to spare him after class. “Of course,” Aramis said with his usual wide smile. “I don’t need to go to Ana’s apartment until later.”

“It’s Ana that I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

Athos motioned them over to the desk to sit. The studio was empty. D’Artagnan had flown through the clear-up so he could get home to Lucy—neglecting his lover was certainly not one of his faults—and now the only sounds were from the other people in the building above them, and their own voices.

“Yes. This game you and Ana are playing—you’re very convincing.”

“I hope so. We know her brother will be watching, and asking her friends about me.”

“Of course. The problem is...you’re convincing Constance too.”

“¿Qué? But she knows it’s an act.” Aramis’s perfect eyebrows drew down in concern. “She can’t believe...no, surely not! Ana would never betray her.”

Aramis looked about to run off and defend someone’s honour—Athos wasn’t sure whose. “I would hope not. The thing is, you...are a bit...Latin.”

The eyebrows rose again. “¿Qué?”

“I mean, to an outsider, you look to be constantly flirting and touching and trying to charm...not that it’s a bad thing,” Athos added hastily as Aramis bridled. “Constance is very sensitive at the moment, since she would prefer it was she who was to marry Ana—”

“And she thinks I am trying to steal her girl? No! I would not—”

“I know,” Athos said, hoping it was true. “It’s more that Ana might find herself...falling for you. That’s Constance’s fear. She would die of shame if you told Ana this, by the way.”

“I would not say a word. Poor darling Constance. Already I love her like a sister. I love them both, but not that way, believe me.” Aramis sat up straight, his jaw firm under his short beard. “I would not sleep with another’s lover, unless both wanted me to.”

“Er...good. But perhaps you could...hold back a little? Be less....”

“Latin?” Aramis said with an innocent look. Athos felt like an idiot. “Si, of course. It’s not deliberate. It’s just how I am. But I will try to be less me from now on.”

“At least in private. In public, you should be the full...Aramis.”

Aramis grinned. “I can do that. And with you, Athos. Do you prefer a demi-tasse or an américain allongé?”

“What?”

“Do you like the full Aramis or the well-behaved version?”

Athos’s libido did a somersault in his gut and managed to tie a knot in it while bouncing up and down on his diaphragm. His mouth made a sound but it was no word he recognised in any of the three languages he spoke fluently.

“I think I can guess,” Aramis said, sounding kind. “I will tone it down around you too, yes?”

“I don’t have a problem with you at all,” Athos croaked out.

“Ah. But you avoid me. I thought maybe I had upset you.”

“No. Not at all. I’m not...if you want friendly, you need d’Artagnan.” Athos stood up. “Anyway, I offered to speak to you for Constance, who was worried about offending you. I hope I have not, and if I have, it’s not her fault.”

“I’m not offended. I would cut off my hand or my tongue before hurting her. Have no fears.”

“Thank you. Uh, I have to lock up now, so if you need to go to Ana’s apartment....”

Aramis took the hint, though Athos couldn’t help but think that he’d learned more about Athos than Athos was happy with him knowing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Aramis said. “Goodnight.”

Athos only nodded and grunted in reply, and didn’t watch him leave. But when the door was safely closed, Athos leaned against the wall and hugged himself. Aramis, full strength or diluted, was going to drive him insane.

***********************

Moving out of Ana’s apartment was a hurt that Ana’s sweet and generous love-making the night before only made worse, though Ana promised to come to see her every evening when Constance was working at the studio, and there would be “girls’ nights” and sleepovers and many visits to Athos’s place.

“Once the trust pays out, we can relax a little,” Ana promised, kissing her and holding her tight. Aramis had wisely decided not to sleep over that evening. “And don’t forget the weekends our ‘partners’ are away, and we have to keep each other company.”

“That will be such a trial,” Constance said, pasting a smile on her face.

“Oh yes. Without a man around, however will we cope?”

After her belongings were dumped at Athos’s apartment and she turned up at the studio, Athos and Charles took her to lunch, making the supreme sacrifice of foregoing their regular fencing session. “Ana’s talking about a joint holiday on Vancouver Island in the summer,” Charles said. “Somewhere remote without any snoops, maybe for a month.”

“We can’t afford to close for a month,” she said.

“We can and we would if we had to,” Athos said, looking stern, before adding, “But we almost certainly won’t, because Aramis and I and d’Artagnan will shuffle things around and Treville has promised to work with us, so you and Ana at least can spend the whole month there if you want, while we keep things running on a reduced timetable. I’ll hire a casual tutor if I have to.”

“Oh. You’d do that for me?”

Athos looked at her from under his eyebrows as if she was being particularly slow, and her brother shook his head. “She doesn’t get that we love her at all, does she?”

“Apparently not. I blame you. Be nicer to her.”

“I’m always nice!”

“Try harder,” Athos said, though the twinkle in his eye told Constance he wasn’t that serious.

The afternoon dragged, and she found herself being irritated by every little thing. She had to fight her mood to concentrate on her job, and tried not to resent the slower students for just not getting it. When a gangly blonde and new enrolee, Marguerite, completed an elegant pass that Constance had spent three lessons trying to teach her, Constance could have cried with relief.

“Oh, well done,” she said, giving the woman a big grin.

“Thank you,” Marguerite said with pathetic gratitude. “I’ve been practicing so hard. Do you think I might be ready to try Aramis’s class soon?”

Constance fixed the smile on her face. “Why not? He’s very good with beginners.”

“Great! I’ll book it as soon as there’s a space.”

Aramis again. Everyone wanted bloody Aramis.

When the man himself turned up that evening, she actually snarled at him. He gave her a startled look but she fled to the loo before he could ask what was wrong.

Athos was leaning against the wall when she emerged, having reapplied her makeup. “You realise nothing has changed, darling.”

“Only moving out of my lover’s apartment, you mean.”

“A cosmetic change. Ana still adores you and Aramis is still not going to make a move on her.”

“I wish I’d never pushed for this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can still call it off.”

“No, I can’t. That would be a shitty thing to do to him, even if she didn’t care.”

“His problem is not your problem.”

“Shut up, Athos.”

“Ana’s here, by the way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She tore down the corridor at the speed of light, her tears forgotten.

Ana was sitting behind the desk, having shooed Charles away to act as receptionist. “Ana! Why are you here?” Constance said.

“Oh, I wanted to watch Aramis at work,” her lover said, giving Constance a sly smile to tell her whom she was really wanting to see. “Are you all moved in?”

“I just threw things in through the door of my room and ran. I’ll work on it later.”

“Sorry for the trouble.” Ana patted her hand as Constance sat down. “Are you all right?” she mouthed at her. Constance shrugged.

Most of Aramis’s class was there, and Aramis was talking to them. One of his students came rushing through the door. “Sorry, I’m late,” he said to Constance.

“No problem, _Monsieur_ Rochefort. He hasn’t started yet.”

Rochefort nodded and went over to join the others. Moments later, Aramis started handing out headsets, ready for the class to begin.

Ana poked Constance in the side. “What?” Constance said out the side of her mouth.

“Wait.”

Once the headsets were on and Aramis began to speak, Ana turned to her. “It’s too funny. That guy? Rochefort? He moved into our building a week ago.”

“Our...oh, you mean, your building.”

“Yes. Philippe thinks he’s so clever.”

“He’s a spy?” He looked so ordinary, a completely typical student for them. Late thirties, single, very likely bisexual or gay, desperate to improve his attractiveness to potential mates. But now Constance thought about it, Rochefort had enrolled just days after the ‘engagement’ announcement. “What a creep. I should kick him out.”

“Don’t bother. If this is the level of surveillance, we can easily cope.”

“Your brother must be desperate to stop you.”

“He is. I sent him an invitation to the wedding party. Haven’t had a reply yet.”

“If he comes, I might have to spill wine on him.”

Ana giggled. “I’ll arrange shellfish to be served. He’s allergic.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“I know. Are you coming shopping with me tomorrow? I want to buy you a new dress.”

“What’s wrong with my dresses?”

“Nothing, love. But I want to give you something nice.”

The warm glow from Ana’s smile washed away any lingering annoyance in Constance’s heart. “You’re wonderful.”

“If I was that wonderful, I wouldn’t be doing this to you.”

“It was my idea. Just keep reminding me of that.”

Under the table, Ana squeezed her fingers. “I love you. Only you.”

“Same here.”

When Aramis’s class ended, Athos took over to lead a salsa session. Aramis and Rochefort came to the table. “Oh, _Monsieur_ Rochefort,” Ana said. “I remember where I’ve seen you. I think you’re a new tenant in my building? I said hello to you the other day.”

Behind Rochefort, Aramis’s eyes narrowed. Rochefort smiled politely. “Oh yes. We haven’t been properly introduced though.”

“Oh, excuse my manners. I’m Ana d’Espana, and Aramis is my fiancé.”

Rochefort bowed. “Guy Rochefort at your service, mademoiselle. Do you teach here too?”

“No. I just came to meet Aramis so we can go to dinner. What a coincidence though, meeting you here?”

“Isn’t it? Well, I must be off. Lovely to meet you both.”

Aramis glowered at the man’s back as he left the studio. “He’s a spy?”

“Yup,” Ana said happily. “Isn’t he darling?”

“This is not funny, Ana,” he said.

“It’s hilarious. Philippe must think I’m an idiot.”

“Which you are not,” Constance said.

“Which none of us are.” Ana took Constance’s hand under the table again. “Are you all right, really?”

“I’ve had better days.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aramis said.

“Shut up,” Constance said to him, but not unkindly. “Shoo. Go be good little engaged people. I’ll meet you tomorrow at Le chien riant at nine, okay? I have a class at one o’clock.”

“Plenty of time to find you the perfect best friend at her friend’s wedding dress.” Ana leaned in. “And one I’ll enjoy taking off you later.”

“Ana! Not in front of him!”

Aramis smirked at her. “Don’t mind me. I’m quite deaf, I assure you.”

“Huh. Right. Go away now.”

One more squeeze of her hand, and Ana kissed her cheek. “Sleep well, my darling.”

“You, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ballroom tango is not suitable for social venues and clubs because it takes up very much more room. In contrast, ["In Argentina, salon tango is popular where there is plenty of room in which to dance.... Apilado (Piled Up) (erroneously called Milonguero) is danced in crowded Argentine dance venues where dancers have limited space in which to dance usually around square yard per couple or even less."](http://www.tangoconcepts.com/blog/2008/02/different-types-of-tango.html)


	3. Chapter 3

Athos considered that Constance putting herself through the torment of attending Ana’s wedding and reception was the height of masochism, and didn’t hold back from expressing that thought.

“I have to go,” she said. “I’m her best friend, officially. It’ll look bloody weird if I don’t.”

“Someone else can play best friend, surely.”

“Not like I can. I’ll be fine. You’ll be there. Charles will be too. And Porthos. Lucie, Elodie. I’ll be surrounded by friends.”

“If you’re sure, my dear.”

But on the morning in question he suggested she drank a large brandy, which she did, and he slipped his hip flask into her purse as they sat back in the taxi. “Emergency supplies.”

She patted his hand. “You really are a darling, darling.”

Fortified by alcohol and Athos’s arm, Constance did a convincing impression at the mairie of a woman happy for her friend finding love for a second time, throwing rice and joking about the bouquet—which she caught. D’Artagnan took many photos, which was the point of the charade Athos was reluctantly party to. Aramis looked as ravishing in Valentino black as Ana did in a rose and peach ensemble, though Ana only had eyes for Constance in a pale green dress. D’Artagnan had to remind her to look at her new husband to make a convincing portrait of the couple.

Constance took a large sip from the hip flask in the taxi to the restaurant. Athos was glad he’d brought another.

It would be easier for all of them at ["l’Alacazar"](http://www.alcazar.fr/), where Ana had booked the private room for twenty people, all of them close friends of each other and familiar to bride and groom. Ana had loudly proclaimed that she wasn’t going to all the expense and fuss of a huge wedding party a second time, and the midweek timing had deterred all but two of her workmates, both of whom were friends of Constance’s as well. Ana’s parents were in Canada and were not offended by missing the civil ceremony, they said. They would invite the new couple to their home on their return.

Since the March weather was cold and wet, a larger outdoor venue was out, and so the small celebration was considered perfectly wise, according to what Constance had read in comments on Ana’s Facebook page. Facebook was essential to the plan, Ana had insisted, hence the photos. Hence any celebration of the fake marriage at all.

And hence Constance sitting beside Athos looking like she was being taken to her own execution. Athos put his arm around her and wished people would just listen to him about this kind of thing.

Porthos and Elodie swept Constance into their embrace when she and Athos climbed up to the private room. Porthos’s well-behaved and mature beyond his ten years son, Jules, shook Athos’s hand. “I am glad to see you again, Athos.”

Athos hid a smile at the grave greeting. “And I’m glad to see you, Jules. Why does that father of yours never bring you dancing?”

“I don’t have time! Too much schoolwork and then I have football practice. I’m sorry.”

Athos ruffled Jules’s dark curls. “Not your fault. But maybe tell your maman that we offer discounts for parents bringing their kids, okay?”

“I will!”

“You plotting against me, de la Fère?” Porthos grumbled, glaring at him over Constance’s head.

“They’re never too young to start. I’m sure he’ll be better than you. He’s not carrying so much—”

“Watch it,” Porthos warned.

“Dignity,” Athos said, and Porthos laughed. Elodie grinned at Athos, and even Constance managed to smile.

“Ana’s just doing something female in the bathroom,” Porthos said. Elodie rolled her eyes. “Aramis is...over there. Coming up the stairs.”

“Bienvenidos, mis amigos. Welcome, friends,” Aramis said, smiling at them. He was still wearing the lovely suit, though the top shirt button was now undone and his tie was loose.

“Aramis is teaching me Spanish,” Jules said.

“And what an excellent pupil he is,” Aramis told them. “Excuse me. Constance? May I have a word?”

Athos tensed up, ready to protect his friend, but she nodded and slipped away. Aramis drew her a little distance from them all, then took her into a hug.

Ah. “Must be hard on her,” Porthos murmured.

“Horrible,” Athos agreed.

“I’d like to punch that grandfather. And that brother,” Elodie said.

“Is he coming?” Athos asked.

“No. Just as well,” Porthos said.

“Quite.”

Ana emerged from the stairs, and greeted them all. She saw Aramis with Constance, and her eyes went straight to Athos, pleading for forgiveness. Athos had none to offer. This plan was too cruel.

Elodie came and took Ana’s arm to lead her to the table, and Porthos and Jules followed. That left Athos to stand and wait for Constance for another couple of minutes, until she pulled away from Aramis and headed to the stairs. “She wants the bathroom,” Aramis said to Athos, walking to him while tugging awkwardly at his tie. “I am so sorry for this hurt. I never wanted it. I told them over and over.”

“Yes, you did, and so did I. It’s not your fault.”

Aramis grasped him on the shoulders. “But you are the better man by far, Athos. You care for Constance, protect her. Any woman would be blessed to have you as a friend or a husband.”

Athos stared at him after this extraordinary declaration. “I have offended you,” Aramis said when Athos couldn’t find the words to reply.

“No. I’m just...shocked at how little you know of what I am.”

Aramis’s fingers dug into his shoulders. “You would be shocked by how much I know.” He kissed Athos on both cheeks, his lips leaving a sensation like fire on Athos’s skin. “Thank you for being a good man today.”

He let Athos go, smiled and walked away.

Athos felt faint.

Also, he was hard. Thank God for long coats.

***********************

Constance staggered out of the bedroom in which she found herself the following morning, and squinted against the artificial light in the kitchen.

Charles’s kitchen.

She looked down and found she was wearing a pair of pyjamas, a type of garment she didn’t own. Also, the legs were too long and someone had rolled them up.

“So you’re up. That’s good.”

She held her hand out to her brother. “Coffee. Now.”

Charles laughed. “Sit down and you can have some. You don’t look steady enough to hold it while standing.”

She slumped into a chair. “Why am I here and why am I wearing these things?”

“Because you were drunk and because you were drunk. So drunk that you told everyone that you wished Ana’s brother was there so you could be sick on his shoes.”

Her stomach did a flip-flop. “You said ‘sick’,” she moaned.

“Yeah.” Her brother was annoyingly amused by her state, but at least he gave her coffee. “Athos is on the sofa. Not awake yet. I think the studio might have to cancel classes today.”

“Oh God, no.” She grabbed her skull. “Just...give me coffee until I tell you to stop, and some water, and some paracetamol.”

He shoved a glass and two pills over to her. “There.”

She swallowed the pills and drank all the water. “Timeizit?”

“Only seven o’clock.”

“God. I need sleep.”

“Yes, you do. I never knew you could drink that much, sis.”

“Neither did I. Why is Athos here?”

“I think he was keeping you company on the booze front. At least we didn’t have to carry him back, like we did you.”

She groaned and put her forehead on the table. “Was I embarrassing?”

“Nah. You were fun. We went up to the bar afterwards and you wanted to dance with everyone. Even Aramis. That was great.”

“I want to die.”

“Not until we find another tutor, okay?”

She gave him the finger without lifting her head. “Lucie?”

“Work. Early shift.”

“Right.”

She lifted her head to drink the coffee, and Charles shoved over a plate with dry toast on it. “Eat that and go back to bed. I’ve got you both covered until midday. Aramis can take Athos’s class this morning.”

“He didn’t drink?” She swallowed some coffee and nibbled the toast. It helped a bit.

“He knows what he’s doing, unlike some.”

“Piss off.”

“Love you too, Constance. Back to bed with you.”

She staggered back to the bedroom and before she knew it, someone was banging on the door and shouting it was eleven o’clock and time for her to get up.

This time she was a lot more aware. Her dress had been hung behind the door, and there were no signs of unpleasant fluids on it or her shoes. She just hoped Lucie had undressed her.

She put her nice new frock back on, and the shoes. She should have time to catch a taxi home to change before she had to teach.

Athos, in his suit, was hunched over a cup of coffee. He did not look well. “Sorry,” she said, taking a seat next to him and pouring a fortifying coffee for herself.

“You didn’t make me drink,” he said.

“So why did you?” Charles was irritatingly fresh and bright-eyed. “At one point you were slumped over Porthos muttering ‘demi-tasse, demi-tasse’. He thought you were having a stroke.”

Athos straightened up and wouldn’t meet Charles’s eyes. “None of your business.”

Constance frowned at his uncharacteristic rudeness. “Are you all right, Athos?”

“I need a shower, aspirin, and to get to work. We both do. So hurry up and I’ll call a taxi. Charles, you need to get to the studio. You have no business letting Aramis handle things on his own.”

“Ana’s helping,” Charles said, pouting. “Jeez, give me some credit.” He tossed a set of keys onto the table. “Lock the door as you go out.”

Constance sipped her coffee and didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. Athos drank his own coffee in grim silence, and once done, peered at his phone to dial a number. He ordered a tax in a gruff voice. “Let’s go downstairs.”

She insisted on washing the cups and tidying up before they left, but they still had to wait in the cold wind for a couple of minutes. Once at the apartment, Athos went to his room to use his ensuite bathroom, and she went to the main one to shower and wake herself up. She felt like a complete idiot, getting drunk and saying stupid things, as if she was eighteen and not thirty.

What would Ana think of her? She must have had to take a day off to cover for Constance’s absence?

She made sure to make herself up nicely and wear her best work outfit. Athos, on the other hand, hadn’t shaved, and still looked like shit.

“You know, we could probably manage without you this once,” she said as he stumbled around the kitchen making toast as a quick breakfast cum lunch before they went downstairs .

“I have never missed a day off at the studio because of alcohol and I don’t intend to start on your account,” he muttered.

“I never asked you to get plastered, Athos.”

His head snapped up and he looked at her with bruised eyes. “Oh God. Constance, I’m sorry. Just ignore me. I’m a pig when I have a hangover.”

“I noticed. Try not to be, okay?”

But the question remained. Why had Athos drunk so much, and why was he being so secretive about it?

While Athos fiddled about in the kitchen, Constance drank a long glass of water and tried to remember the night before.

There hadn’t been any speeches. Neither Ana nor Aramis were inclined to be that much of a hypocrite. D’Artagnan took a lot of photos of them all in various combinations as they ate quite a good meal, and Athos kept topping up her wine glass, until she told him to stop. She hadn’t meant to drink that much at all, but the brandy before and cocktails after while they listened to the music at the bar after the meal had done her in.

Aramis had been sweet, dancing with everyone, even Jules, and spent quite a lot of time chatting to the boy in Aramis’s mother tongue so carefully and slowly, that even Constance could follow it with her high school Spanish. Porthos had sat talking to Athos for a long while, she remembered that.

But Athos had only really started to drink after Aramis had come up and offered to tango with him. They’d danced almost a whole song—apilado style given the confined space— until Athos had abruptly shoved Aramis away and stalked off. Porthos had gone after him.

And after that, Athos had got drunk. Constance got drunker.

What had Aramis done? And why was Athos so angry about it?

***********************

D’Artagnan arrived half-way through the class Aramis was taking on Athos’s behalf, so Aramis didn’t have a chance to ask the lad if Athos was okay that morning. Ripping off his headphones the second the class ended, Aramis grabbed d’Artagnan by the arm. “Is Athos all right? How is he?”

“He’s fine,” D’Artagnan grinned. “Man, they’re both so hungover. It’s hilarious.”

Aramis gritted his teeth, but had no time to ask more, because Constance and Athos arrived at that exact moment, dodging the departing students and their greeting. Ana swooped on Constance and took her into a hug. Athos saw Aramis looking at him and swerved towards the kitchen instead of going to d’Artagnan, as would have been normal.

“Fence with him,” was all their boss said to d’Artagnan on the way, waving dismissively at Aramis without actually meeting his eyes.

D’Artagnan raised both eyebrows. “Wow. He’s never missed sparring before. You up for it?”

“Forgive me, but not today. I have a little hangover too,” he lied. “I’ll just go get some water.”

“Good idea. Make Athos drink some too.”

But Athos wasn’t in the kitchen. Aramis went down the corridor to the bathroom, and found the man at a sink, staring into the bowl.

“Athos, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Athos pushed himself away from the sink and made for the door, still avoiding Aramis’s gaze. Aramis put his arm across the doorway, to block him. “Excuse me.”

“No. We need to talk, you and I.”

“I don’t think so.” He tried to force his way past, but Aramis put his hand on Athos’s chest and pushed him back. Icy green eyes met his for the first time. “Let me go.”

“No. Please, I have to know. What did I do to upset you so much?”

“Nothing. I was drunk.”

“That’s a lie. You didn’t get drunk until after...whatever it was I did. I must know. I can’t sleep for worrying.”

“Learn to live with it. Aramis, get out of my way.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you.”

Aramis grabbed Athos’s shoulders and forced him to stand still. “Athos! Madre de Dios, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Athos struggled so Aramis did the only thing he could think of—he wrapped Athos in a strong hug and refused to let go. “Please, my friend, querido, calm down. I never wanted to hurt you,” he murmured.

Athos was strong and angry, and could have broken Aramis’s hold if he’d really, really wanted to. But he stopped struggling. Maybe waiting for Aramis to let him go so he could punch him and escape?

“Please, I beg forgiveness for whatever I’ve done. To injure you even by accident, breaks my heart.”

Athos trembled like a leaf in his arms. “Please let me go,” he begged, and his broken voice did what his muscles could not. Aramis released him immediately, and stepped aside. Athos banged the door going through it, and the next thing Aramis heard were his running footsteps.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair. “Jesu, what have I done.”

***********************

Constance stared in astonishment as Athos ran past her and Ana and slammed out of the studio, not even looking to see if the door had closed properly behind him.

“What the hell?”

Charles came over. “What’s got into him? Maybe he’s sick?”

“The bathroom’s the other way,” Ana pointed out. “Where’s Aramis?”

“Bathroom...oh.”

Ana frowned at Constance. “Oh?”

“Athos is angry at Aramis and I don’t know why. Something happened while they were dancing. Charles, did you see?”

“No. I saw them dancing but I didn’t see them argue.”

“I didn’t say ‘argue’. Excuse me, love.” She freed herself from Ana’s arms, and went to the bathroom to see if Aramis was still there.

He was, and he looked terrible, leaning against the wall. “God, Aramis, what’s wrong? And what happened between you and Athos?”

“Nothing.” Aramis stood up, his arms still wrapped around himself. “That’s the truth, Constance. I have no idea what I did last night, and he refused to talk to me this morning about it or anything. I don’t know what’s wrong. I want to fix it but...please, can you help me find out?”

He looked so sad she had to hug him. “Of course I’ll help,” she said against his chest. “Come and join us. Ana says you brought lunch for all of us, which was kind.”

“I’m not hungry, darling.”

“Still, come and sit. Don’t mope. That’s Athos’s job.”

She felt a little chuckle shake him but the sound was sad. “Okay.”

He followed her back into the studio. Ana’s mouth formed a regretful moue as they appeared. Constance shook her head. “He doesn’t know either. I thought we should eat lunch and maybe by then, he’ll come back.”

“This isn’t like him,” Charles said. “He doesn’t do tantrums.”

“It’s not a tantrum,” Aramis said. “Whatever it is, it’s not anger. I think...I think maybe he’s afraid of something? But I don’t know what.”

Constance looked at Ana, then had a lightbulb moment.

_Oh._

Oh, Athos.

***********************

Athos had thought to go to the nearest bar to get plastered after that...that confrontation...with Aramis, but his raging headache and his overwhelming sense of worthlessness drove him upstairs to hide at home instead. He had a brandy, but only the one. It helped his headache, as did the water and more aspirin, but his disappointment in himself at his lack of control, and his guilt over making such a mess of things, only increased as the hours ticked by.

He lay on his bed fully clothed, huddled in a blanket, and lost himself in recriminations and impossible desires. Unbidden, memories of that terrible day more than ten years ago replayed over and over in his head. Anne, flinging her seduction of Thomas in Athos’s face. Thomas’s fear and guilt at Athos’s challenging him over it.

God, Thomas had actually thought Athos would hurt him. Would kill him. When all Athos had wanted was to know why Thomas had betrayed him so utterly

And then Thomas had died so stupidly, so needlessly. Athos, listening to his father give him the news in a broken voice. Going to the morgue to confirm Thomas’s identity because his parents couldn’t face it.

Explaining to the police why Thomas was driving so recklessly. Meeting polite sympathy.

Giving the same explanation to his parents, and getting anger, confusion, hurt in return.

Anne, pushing past him with suitcases in hand, refusing to talk. Refusing to answer emails, or letters, or reply to calls.

The day the divorce request arrived, and having to deal with it while Papa was in intensive care after the heart attack.

Aramis had called him “querido”.

Darling.

And last night, when his eyelids had lowered as he looked at Athos, and his lips had moved...Athos had been on the verge of kissing him before he realised what the fuck he was doing.

But he had called him “querido” this morning. Said it so tenderly, and held him so tight and with so much strength.

Strength Athos didn’t have to deal with it.

Maybe more brandy was a good idea after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Much later Athos heard the door of the apartment open. Constance coming home, he realised, squinting at the time on his phone. He considered hiding, but she would only come looking for him out of concern, so he hauled himself out of bed, dragged on a sweater and stumbled out to the living room.

“Athos!” Constance ran to him and hugged him so hard, it took him a few seconds to realise they weren’t alone in the apartment.

“What...why...?”

“It’s all right,” she said, caressing his cheek. “We bought pizza from that place you like, and salad, and mineral water, and chocolates for after, and Ana and I are going to my room to eat and you and Aramis are going to talk.”

He shoved her away gently. “No. Constance, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Aramis, tell him.”

Aramis cleared his throat. “Honestly, Athos. It’s okay.”

“It’s not up to you. Or you,” he added, glaring at Constance.

“Be like that then. But I bet you haven’t eaten since you had toast this morning, and Ana and I are going to my room no matter what you say, and Aramis isn’t leaving until she does, so there. Ana, come on.”

Ana grabbed Constance’s hand, and dragged her away to Constance’s bedroom. Athos stared at the floor. “This is an appalling thing to do to someone,” he muttered.

“I’m hungry. Come and eat. Do you want wine? Constance said not to buy any because you had plenty, but I’m happy with the water.”

Ignoring Athos’s glare, mood, and very obvious preference, Aramis set about preparing the table with the bought food, cutlery, plates, and glasses, all calmly and with ease, as if he did this every day in this very apartment, instead of it being his first visit to the place.

And the last, Athos thought darkly. “I would very much like you to leave, Aramis. I’ll pay for a taxi to send Ana home.”

“A newly wed man travelling separately from his new wife? Can you imagine how her brother’s spies will love seeing that?”

“I am so fucking sick of hearing about this fucking wedding.”

Aramis looked up and met his eyes. “Me too. But now we are halfway there, it would be stupid to give up now. I won’t mention it again.”

“I just asked you to leave.”

“Before dinner? Have a heart.”

Athos growled. He stomped over, grabbed a chair and flung himself into it. “Right. Eat, then leave.”

“Here, have a slice,” Aramis said politely, offering him pizza on a plate. “Wine or water?”

The aroma of the artisan pizza—yes, from his favourite place and even his favourite kind, [pumpkin and prosciutto](https://spoonuniversity.com/lifestyle/italian-pizza-toppings-you-wont-find-in-the-states)—made his mouth water, and though he wanted to keep scowling, his hunger meant he was chewing on the delicious food much faster than he planned to. “Wine in that cupboard,” he muttered, pointing to the right one. “Good enough for pizza. You pick.”

He ignored what Aramis was doing, and refused to comment on the wine selection, but was secretly pleased at the choice of a Mâcon Rouge. Aramis opened it to let it breathe, and poured both of them some of the mineral water.

Two slices in, and Athos’s stomach felt a lot better. He felt a lot better, and had to admit at least some of his emotional disturbance may have been a combination of hangover and lack of food.

“You aren’t so pale now,” Aramis said, smiling at him. “Would you like some salad?”

“I still want you to leave.”

“Of course you do,” Aramis said, his smile even wider now. “Shall I tell you what I thought happened last night, from my point of view?”

“Please don’t.”

“We were dancing the tango, a delightful experience as I always find it when I dance with you—”

“Aramis, stop—”

But the man ploughed on. “And I was looking into your extremely lovely eyes, and thinking, ‘I wish this guy wasn’t celibate, because I would love to kiss him right now’, and then I thought, ‘hey, he’s going to kiss me!’ Then the next thing I know is that you shoved me in the chest and ran like a startled deer. I’ve been thinking and thinking about what I could have possibly have done to frighten you—”

“I was not frightened,” Athos snapped, giving Aramis his best glare.

“Liar. Mentiroso.”

“I asked you to leave.”

Aramis held up his pizza slice. “Still eating. It would be so rude to throw me out before I finish, and before I kiss you.”

Athos froze. “I do not want to kiss you.”

“Tan mentiroso. Such a liar. I think you have wanted to kiss me since you met me, as I have wanted to kiss you, but you’re scared of love and relationships because of your ex-wife, and you forget that not everyone is going to lie and cheat.”

Athos stuck out his chin. “You mean, other than those lying and cheating for money and visas. You’re a poor specimen of an honourable man.”

“Tsk tsk. That’s the best insult you can come up with? Oh no, I am helping a friend who asked me for help, and she is helping me? Tan mentiroso.”

“Stop saying that! I understand Spanish, and you know it perfectly well.”

“Well then, _Monsieur_ Spanish Speaker, translate this. ‘Vivir con miedo, es como vivir a medias’. And that is you. Living in fear, living a half-life. You have no reason to be afraid of me. Unless you are straight, and you do not dance like a straight man.”

“I have never slept with a man.”

Aramis smiled, this time with a knowing look in his eyes. “Fear again, I think. You do not desire me?”

Athos’s chest went tight. “No.”

“So, you did not want to kiss me last night?”

“No.”

“And if I took your hand like this....” He reached over and took Athos’s unresisting hand in his. “And lifted it to my lips like this....” Athos didn’t stop him doing so. “And kissed it just like this.”

His lips were butterfly soft on the back of Athos’s hand, and then his tongue was a hot, thrilling cat lick between them.

Aramis’s brilliant brown eyes bored into his. “You are going to tell me how much you hate it, and that I disgust you, and that I must leave before you beat me up?”

“No,” Athos whispered.

“And if I said, ‘Athos, I would like to get to know you better and in bed’, would you tell me to fuck off?”

“No.”

Aramis changed the way he was holding Athos’s hand to a proper grip, and held it while he ate his pizza with his other hand, his white teeth flashing as he grinned. “Eat up. You’re gonna need to keep up your strength, querido.”

***********************

**[Earlier that day]**

“Aramis, do you want to have sex with Athos?”

Aramis nearly choked on his baguette when Constance dropped that question as they were eating their lunch in the studio kitchen. He had to cough and drink some water before he answered. “What?” His voice still squeaked.

“Do you fancy Athos?”

“Of course. Who would not?”

She gave Ana a knowing look. “That’s the problem then.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” d’Artagnan agreed.

“Excuse me, what are we talking about?”

“When you were dancing with him, did you make your feelings clear to him?”

“Of course...not. I would not impose...I might have been thinking at one point how much I would like to kiss him.” And how beautiful his eyes were, and how perfect his lips were, even with that little scar.

“Was that point just before he ran away?”

Aramis tried to remember. “Maybe? He looked...I swear it looked like he might kiss me. You know how intensely he looks sometimes? But I wasn’t going to do anything, I swear.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Constance sighed. “I had an email from Sylvie last week. She’s pregnant and wanted to share the good news. I asked her again what had happened with Athos, and this time she told me. Apparently she wanted to get serious with him, and he refused. Said he never wanted to commit to someone again because of what happened with his wife. So she broke it off and quit.”

“That’s crazy,” d’Artagnan said. “Not everyone is like his wife.”

“My husband was,” Ana said, scowling at the memory.

“With Athos’s ex,” Constance said.

“Wait. Your ex had an affair with his ex?” Aramis asked. “And that’s why your marriage ended?”

“Yes. Didn’t I mention that before?” Ana said.

“No. ¡A la mierda! He must feel like he can never escape her curse.”

“I never looked at it like that before,” Ana said to Constance. “But that won’t help.”

“Help what?”

Constance fixed Aramis with her gaze. “Help you get to sleep with Athos.”

He choked on his lunch again.

***********************

After that, Constance let him finish his meal, but she was not a woman to drop a plan when she felt it was best for all concerned. “He will never, ever make the first step,” she said while they cleaned up the kitchen. “You need to take charge.”

“That’s not my nature, Constance. I am not one to force myself on anyone.”

“Did I say ‘force’? You need to make your feelings clear, tell him you know what he wants—”

“But I don’t know what he wants.”

She shook her head impatiently. “He runs out of here like his arse is on fire because you hugged him? He gets drunk to the point where he can hardly move because he realised you realised he wanted to kiss you? Please. There’s obliviousness, and then there’s plain stupidity, and you aren’t stupid.”

“All right. Say he does want me. If he does not want to act on that because he has taken a vow of celibacy—”

She made an extremely inelegant noise for such a pretty woman. “Even priests have trouble with those, and they make a vow for God. Athos is making a vow out of fear, and that’s the worst, most ridiculous reason. You’re not his wife. You’d better not be like her or I’ll do something mean.” Her hand was at that point around the bread knife, so Aramis was very clear what she meant by that. “You want to give this a try?”

“Yes, but, Constance, he’ll run away if I approach him again.”

“Not this time. I have a plan. Just trust me.”

“Okay.”

***********************

**[Now]**

Athos let him hold his hand for all of thirty seconds before pulling away. “I can’t do this,” he said.

“Athos, if you want it—”

“That’s not important.” He stared into Aramis’s eyes. “I can live with want. I can’t live with guilt. With knowing that people I love will be hurt.”

Aramis reached for his hand again, and rested his own on top. Athos didn’t resist. “Querido, I don’t understand. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of me.” Athos stood and walked over to the door. “I met a woman when I was twenty-four. Within six months of marrying her, my brother was dead, my parents driven to despair, and my father had had the first of a number of heart attacks from the grieving. That woman then used the contacts she had made through our family to move onto other men, including Ana’s husband, breaking up marriages and causing misery everywhere she went. All because I couldn’t restrain my libido long enough to really see who she was. All because of me.”

Aramis threw his hands up in the air. “That’s crazy.” Athos’s expression closed in. “No, really. Come here, darling. Please.” Athos didn’t move, so Aramis stood and went to him. He put his hands on Athos’s shoulders. “One, I am not her. Two, I am not her. Three, I am not her.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you don’t hurt those around me, I’ll hurt you. I hurt Sylvie so badly. She was...such a lovely woman. Generous, kind, beautiful. Perfect. But I couldn’t give her what she deserved, and I knew it. I broke her heart.”

Aramis leaned in and kissed his forehead. “My heart is tough, and I would not hurt those you love because I love them too. Why won’t you even try?”

“Because it’s not worth it.”

Because I am not worth it, Aramis heard.

“Bullshit.” Aramis put his arms around the man because the only thing Athos really responded to was physical contact. Constance had told him that, but Aramis had already known it. He had felt Athos’s heart against his when they danced, seen that this was the only time this proud man ever surrendered without shame. How he smiled when Constance hugged him or nudged him. The glee he took in fencing when he was right up in d’Artagnan’s face, trapping the man next to him. “Kiss me. Like you wanted to last night.”

Athos stared at him, his eyes huge and wary. Aramis stared back, putting all his desire and affection for this stubborn, wonderful man into his eyes. Please, he thought. Please just kiss me.

Athos leaned in and touched lips to his. And then as if the dam had broken under the force of a striking asteroid, he plundered Aramis’s mouth, his hands holding Aramis’s head like he was afraid he would not be able to taste everything, feel everything, before Aramis ran away.

But Aramis didn’t want to run away because Athos felt incredible to him. His tongue, his lips, so agile and knowing, his body hard and strong against Aramis’s own. Aramis loved women and he loved men for different things, and Athos was the very essence of what he sought in a male lover.

He pushed Athos harder against the wall, making the pictures bounce. “Neighbours,” Athos managed to say.

“They’ll think it’s pigeons,” Aramis muttered against his skin.

Athos jerked. At first Aramis thought he was trying to escape, but when he leaned back a little, he discovered it wasn’t fear, but hilarity. Athos was chuckling. Giggling even. Uncontrollably.

He was gorgeous when he laughed. Aramis tenderly petted his hair. “You are too much. So much.” Then he kissed that smirking mouth the way he’d wanted to almost from the minute he’d met him.

Much later, still pressed against the wall, Aramis had to admit, “I can’t stay. Ana has work tomorrow.”

“So do I. Speaking of...we can’t do this at the studio. Not around students. Hands to yourself, and no slutty looks.”

“I do not do slutty looks, Athos.”

“Aramis, you are one long, continuous slutty look. So behave.”

“Yes, señor.” He kissed Athos again. “But if you want me to behave, then you have to stop being so wonderful.”

“Before you come back to the studio, go see a doctor. You’re obviously sick in the head.”

“No, I have never felt better. Do you want to take me to bed?”

“Not tonight.” Aramis pouted. “Let’s finish our meal, drink some wine. Or can you not restrain yourself?”

That arched eyebrow was a challenge. “Do you really imagine Latin men only want to fuck all day long?”

“I’ve met some like that.”

“Well, I am not. I will gladly drink wine with you, if I may hold your hand again. Maybe feed you some chocolates because I like seeing things go into your pretty mouth.”

The green eyes flashed, then softened. “You really are crazy.”

“Eh, if so, I can live with it. Let’s eat and take the wine somewhere more comfortable.”

***********************

Ana traced a finger lightly around Constance’s nipple. “It’s awfully quiet out there.”

“Aramis might have left.”

“Not without me. He promised.”

“Then Athos might have.” She sighed. “It was a bit of a long shot.”

“You tried, love. And it doesn’t mean they won’t get together later. It’s quarter to eleven. I need to go.”

Constance kissed her on the forehead. “Then I’d better get dressed to see you out.”

At least she could watch the elegant way Ana pulled her stockings on, and the teasing looks as she refastened her bra. Though unfastening it had been much more fun.

Constance peeked into the kitchen. No sign of either man. “I’ll just check his bedroom.” She knocked, then called Athos’s name as she opened the door.

Nope. Not in there either.

She opened the door to the living room, and found the pair of them wrapped around each other on the sofa, with a blanket over them. “Good for you,” she said, grinning.

“Meddler,” Athos said, without anger.

“You’re welcome. Also, I’m sorry, Aramis, but Ana needs to go.”

“Of course.” He kissed the top of Athos’s head and whispered something which Constance refused to listen to. “I won’t see you tomorrow. I have a photoshoot from mid-morning. Will probably go well into the evening.”

“I’ll struggle on somehow,” Athos said drily, but he caressed Aramis’s hip as he stood. “Goodnight.”

“You too. Sleep well. Sleep better.”

Athos’s heavy-lidded look told Constance all she needed to know about how much better Athos felt than he had that morning.

She walked the two of them out to the street, but didn’t wait for the taxi—much too cold—and when she returned, Athos was cleaning up in the kitchen. “I’m really happy for you,” she said, hugging him from behind.

“I still think this is a very bad idea. But I’m prepared to allow that it might not be, if we take it slow. You and Ana will still need to be careful, as will we. Rochefort is almost certainly not the only one your brother is using to investigate.”

She let him go and began to put the clean things from the dishwasher away into the cupboard. “I know. And we will be careful. I miss her so much though. I miss coming home to her.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Were you ever like that with...her?” She held her breath waiting for the answer.

“Yes. Insanely so. The entire time I was with her was a form of madness. Only after Thomas died did I realise how duped I had been. She never loved me at all. It was only about my money, my family.”

She stroked his shoulder. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“I’m over it.”

Uh huh. She didn’t call him on the lie, but ‘over it’? Athos? Not bloody likely. “Ana’s booked us a huge cabin on Vancouver Island. All we have to do is arrange the teaching schedule. We _could_ close, you know, since it’s August.”

“Hmmm. Maybe. Let’s talk about it with d’Artagnan, see if it makes sense. It would be nice to have an entire uninterrupted month.”

“When did you last have a holiday? I can’t remember you ever taking one.”

“I had a week off five years ago, when Maman died.”

“Athos!”

He turned and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a holiday. I’m doing what I love, every day. If I’d been a lawyer, I’d need vacations, but not now.”

“But now you have a luscious new boyfriend to spend time with.”

He winced. “Please don’t.”

“Sorry. He is luscious though.”

“He is. It’s the ‘boyfriend’ thing I object to. It’s not really me.”

“Well, whatever he is, you and he need to spend time together.”

“We’ll be away once a month at d’Essart’s if things go as planned.”

She grinned. “Oh they better. I’m counting on those weekends to have Ana all to myself again.”

“Then I promise they will happen, even if we don’t have a single booking. I’ll drag people off the street and offer them free tango lessons.”

“Could be a good advertising ploy. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She closed the dishwasher. “Time for bed. I mean, sleep.”

He gave her a half-smile. “Goodnight, meddler.”

“Goodnight, my dear friend in need of a shove.”


	5. Chapter 5

Athos made no excuse for ruthlessly enforcing a ‘no public displays of affection’ rule between him and Aramis at the studio and everywhere else. Constance might not be so worried, but his legal training and his father’s experiences had taught him how dirty people would play when the stakes were as high as they were. He had also done a little digging and discovered that Philippe d’Espana’s finances were nothing like as secure as Ana had believed, and that he really needed his share of that ten million euros.

“But I would have given it to him if he asked,” Ana said when he told her.

Athos had shrugged. “Then he’s a fool. Just be aware people have been murdered for a lot less than a hundred thousand euros, let alone what he stands to gain if your marriage ends...in whatever manner.”

She’d put her hand over her mouth. “He would kill me?”

“I was thinking Aramis is more likely. After all, if you die, your money goes to him, and as I understand the terms of the trust, if you died now, the trust would pay out automatically. Which, of course, gives Aramis a reason to murder you too.”

“My God, Athos! You don’t believe—”

“No, I don’t. But if Philippe could kill you and frame him? He might. Just be careful, my dear.”

“And warn him.”

“Already done.”

Which was why Athos had increased the level of fencing tutoring he was giving to Aramis alongside d’Artagnan. Aramis wasn’t helpless—he spent almost all his adult life in the military—but the fencing kept him sharp, and the dancing helped to keep him fit. Something that was a bonus for Athos, of course.

He was paranoid enough about snoopers that he paid for a security agency to sweep the studio for surveillance equipment—and they found two listening devices, one in the bathroom, one in the kitchen.

“Jesus,” d’Artagnan said when Athos broke the news. “We’ve talked about this in the kitchen.”

“And the bathroom,” Aramis said, looking sick, as did Constance.

“There’s nothing to be done about that now,” Athos said. “All we can do is be discreet outside our own homes. It’s not against the law or the terms of the trust for Ana to have married for legal convenience, or to give Aramis a visa, so long as there is a real relationship between them. If in six months’ time, there is no more evidence of fakery or extramarital liaisons, Philippe will have very thin evidence to claim the marriage is still a complete sham.”

“I hate all this skulduggery,” d’Artagnan said. “Why are some people so determined to force other people to live the way they think is right?”

“We all do it,” Athos said. “It’s the definition of ‘right’ we disagree on.”

“Are we safe now in the studio?” Aramis asked.

“I can’t be sure. And we can’t be sure Rochefort is the only student spying on us.”

“Hijo de puta,” Aramis spat.

“Language,” Athos murmured. “I’ll buy some white noise generators, which will help baffle the bugs. But we still need to be discreet.”

So the only times when the two couples could be entirely open with each other was when they visited d’Artagnan and Lucie, or Porthos and Elodie—even then, they had to be careful what Jules saw. Athos couldn’t wait for August to arrive. He, Constance, and d’Artagnan agreed to close down for the entire month, based on the low historical bookings. The studio became nigh unbearable in the August heat anyway, and the cost of air-conditioning was not offset by the thin bookings.

They laid on extra classes to counter the lost fees. Aramis was now perfectly competent to lead a class on his own, and was in great demand. Athos found it grimly ironic that Rochefort the spy took Aramis’s lessons seriously, and had greatly improved as a dancer. It was too much to hope that he might decide not to report on Aramis in case he lost his teacher.

Three weeks after Ana and Aramis’s wedding, Athos and Aramis went to Rennes for the Latin Lovers Workshop Jean Treville organised at d’Essart’s. Treville had profusely apologised for having no room to put the two of them up at his studio apartment, and Athos had managed to keep a straight face while assuring his old friend and tutor that no, he and Aramis really didn’t mind a bit staying in a hotel.

At the studio Athos had discussed the need to economise, what with the August close down, when Aramis had questioned whether a twin room was really necessary. “If these weekends are to turn a profit, we have to keep costs down. That means cheap accommodation and cheap meals, my friend.”

“But did you even think about not scheduling it three weeks after the wedding? My God, Athos. my darling Ana will be alone all weekend.”

“Both of you can suck it up. She wanted the Canadian vacation. You two lovebirds can snuggle all you want then.”

With his back to the students, including one M. Rochefort, Aramis had grinned like a fool at Athos for that remark.

Now they were checked in at the hotel, and in the room with its two decent sized beds. “We’ll have to mess up both of them,” Athos said, “in case the maids are bribed.”

Aramis slung his arms around him. “Are you sure you’re not a secret agent in your spare time, mi amor?”

“The things I’ve seen in case files, Aramis.”

Aramis kissed him hard, and made it very clear by the way his body shimmied against Athos, that he did not want to talk about fucking case files, or anything other than how exactly he planned to debauch Athos this weekend in their spare hours. Athos was entirely on board with that plan.

Their first session was Friday evening. That gave them free two hours before they caught a taxi to the studio. That gave Aramis a chance to teach Athos another lesson on how one man could make love to another man, and drive that other man out of his mind.

Since Athos had no experience, and little knowledge beyond a few brief and fairly off-putting glimpses of gay porn, everything Aramis did was new and wonderful. He was the most generous of lovers, utterly without misplaced pride or selfishness, and since more than half of Athos’s sexual experiences were with a woman who demanded more than she gave, and took control in a way that left him feeling vaguely humiliated sometimes, Aramis was a wondrous novelty.

Aramis’s favourite thing was to slowly strip Athos, and lick the bared skin until Athos was on the verge of overstimulation, before he switched to a new part of Athos’s body. By the time Athos’s cock was free of constricting material, Aramis could simply blow on it and Athos would come.

The first time that happened, Athos babbled an apology for a lack of stamina. Aramis had put his hand over Athos’s mouth and licked him clean, before crawling back up the bed. “Querido, that is exactly how you were supposed to react. If you had not, I would not have been doing it right.”

“Really?”

Aramis kissed his jaw. “Really. Relax my darling. You are quite perfect to me, and this is not a contest.”

Athos discovered that practicing that technique on Aramis was almost as much fun as being on the receiving end. A lot of the things Aramis taught him were like that.

Being a student all over again was turning out to be a lot of fun.

***********************

Athos went to go back to Ana’s flat with Aramis to collect his ‘girlfriend’, and have dinner with the ladies.

“How was your bachelor weekend?” Constance asked, kissing Athos on the cheek.

“As much fun as your spinsters’ one, I imagine.” She certainly looked happy and sated, as did Ana. “We brought cake. Gift from Treville.”

“Ooh, how nice of him.” She dove for the bag and peered into it. “How did it go?”

“Which bit?”

“Athos.”

“The workshop was a stunning success, and Treville wants another as soon as we can fit it in. Financially, we did a little better than break even, which is fine. Raising d’Essart’s’ profile will lift their profits, and we should benefit from that.”

“Good.” She took the cake to the fridge. “Hungry?”

“Famished. Lunch was rushed and light.”

“Poor darlings,” Ana said. “Fortunately for you, we cooked. Husband, help me set the table.”

“Yes, wife,” Aramis said, grinning at Athos as he said it.

Dinner was roast chicken, one of Athos’s favourites, and he wondered if Constance had suggested it. The meal was easily as good as any he had had in most restaurants, with better company. Seeing Constance so relaxed after months of being miserable and upright about the fake marriage was an immense relief. He thought that maybe Ana and Constance would come out of this just fine.

And if they did, maybe Athos had a future with Aramis. He refused to think that far. Wishing would only invite trouble to visit him.

He declined a digestif, but accepted the offer of coffee. He and Constance were teaching the morning class the next day, although he had the afternoon off. As did Aramis, not that it did them any good. Sadly, there wasn’t any good reason why Aramis should be visiting Athos’s apartment during the day, or without Ana.

But Athos was used to deprivation, so everything he received, he took without expecting more.

Ana poured the coffee. Athos lifted the cup to his nose to sniff. Ana had excellent taste in coffee beans, and made excellent coffee as a result. He caught Aramis’s look and mouthed ‘demi-tasse’ at him which made his lover snort inelegantly.

“So,” Ana said. “I’ve got a solution to any claim my marriage is fake. I want to have a baby with Aramis.”

Athos’s cup fell from nerveless fingers, and coffee went everywhere.

Aramis spoked for them both. “¡¿Qué?!”

***********************

Constance hadn’t realised Ana was going to broach the subject of a baby that evening, and would have warned her not to if she had. The appalled look on both men’s faces told her how big a faux pas it had been. “It’s just an idea,” she said, smiling weakly.

Athos’s tone was cold and at its most aristocratically crisp when he replied. “It’s the worst reason I’ve ever heard for having a child. And I’m not happy about Aramis being treated like a toy for your entertainment, Ana.”

Ana’s lips thinned. “I’m not toying with anyone, Athos. I want to be clear. I want a child for my own reasons, not because of this facade. I was simply going to ask Aramis if he fancied being the baby’s father, that’s all.”

“Then, cherie, perhaps you should have done that in private,” Aramis said, his expression more severe than Constance had ever seen it.

“But it involves Athos too. I mean, since you’re lovers. And if you’re not interested, I wanted to ask him next.”

“Before you say no,” Constance jumped in as Athos drew breath to clearly do just that, “we both want a child. Ideally by the same father. Just not at the same time.”

“This is not a decision to be made lightly,” Aramis said. “I take this very seriously.”

“Of course,” Ana said, bowing her head.

“Why can’t you just use normal sperm donation?” Athos asked.

“Um, single women and same-sex couples can’t in France,” Constance said. “Of course we could look elsewhere...but we both think you’re the nicest childless men we know that we’re not related to.”

Athos grunted in acknowledgement. “Very well. But let me put on record my intense objection to any attempt to persuade either of us through guilt. If Aramis agrees, let it be something he wants.”

“Of course. I’m sorry for being impetuous,” Ana said. “We were talking about it, and I was a little...overexcited. I wanted to have children with Louis, but he was infertile. Now I have a second chance.”

Athos’s expression softened. Aramis would not be immune to this appeal, but Athos was right. They needed time.

“Maybe we should go home, Athos,” she said. “We can talk about this together later.”

“All right. Er, I’ve made a bit of a mess.” He indicated the spilled coffee.

“Never mind. Do you want another?” Ana asked.

“I’d rather leave, if you don’t mind.” He stood, and took Aramis’s hand. “See you tomorrow?”

Aramis kissed his cheek. “Let me walk you both out. Ana, could you please call the taxi?”

Athos was silent on the short ride back to their place. Once inside the apartment, he asked her, “Would you like some coffee?”

“I’m fine. Athos, are you angry?”

“A bit. For him, not me.”

“That’s fair. It really could be either of you. If anything, I’d be happier if you were the donor.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you. I don’t think there’s anything terrific about my genes, though.”

“We’ll have to disagree on that.” She kissed his cheek. “Sleep well.”

***********************

After Athos and Constance left, Aramis returned to the apartment and found Ana cleaning up. He helped her finish. “Are you angry?” she asked.

“A little. Shocked, mostly. I would never bring a child into this world for money or a visa, please understand that.”

“Oh, I know. But I’m thirty, Aramis. I need to do something about this before I and Constance run out of time, and I certainly won’t be marrying another man after you.”

Aramis chuckled. “No, I suppose not. How would you do it?”

“I’ve already had everything checked by my doctor, made sure there is nothing getting in the way of a successful pregnancy, so it’s simple. You, um, provide the sample, and a turkey baster does the rest.” She saw his expression. “No?”

“It’s a little...mechanical. A child should be made with love.”

She sighed impatiently. “I can’t exactly go to a fertility clinic with your semen and ask for their help, can I? That would involved investigating infertility I don’t have, at least, I assume. And the alternative is....”

“The old fashioned way. But Constance would not agree, of course.”

“She might. I mean...we could talk about it.” She looked at him with her beautiful eyes from under her exquisite brows. “He might not be thrilled though.”

“Athos? I have no idea. My dear, we need time to talk. Go to your doctor, and by the time you have your answers, we can decide how and when. Okay?”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “Okay! Thank you.”

He kissed her cheek. “You’re welcome. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I was making up the stupid laws against same sex couples and sperm donation in France: 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sperm_donation_laws_by_country#France


	6. Chapter 6

After the workshop in Rennes Aramis was physically worn out, so he could have done without Ana’s little bombshell keeping him awake much of the night as he went back and forth on the idea of becoming a father, but not a parent. By the time he finally got out of bed, he had come to some conclusions about the matter, and wanted Athos’s clear-eyed intelligence to examine them.

He wasn’t due to teach until the evening, but his day was free of other engagements, so he dressed and went to The Garrison just after they opened at ten. Athos was the one to spot him, and gave him a disapproving look at his state. “I would have slept better in your arms,” Aramis admitted.

Athos kissed him on the lips, then squeezed his shoulder. “It wasn’t fair to drop that on you like that. You don’t have to be here this morning. Why not try to get more sleep?”

“I was hoping I could talk to you about all this. My head is spinning.”

“I’m sure it is. I don’t have to teach until eleven thirty. Want have coffee and talk?”

Aramis gave him a grateful smile. “Very much.”

They went to a café near by. There was always a possibility that someone might be listening in, but the café was busy enough that Athos thought the background noise would baffle an eavesdropper. “This is such a tiresome way to live,” Aramis said. “I have no idea it would be like this when I agreed to Ana’s suggestion.”

“That’s part of what’s bothering me. Making me angry, in fact. Ana says she wants to help you, but the benefits are overwhelmingly on her side of things, while Constance eats her heart out missing her, and you...get asked to be a sperm donor.”

“I want to stay in France, Athos. Now more than ever.”

A slight smile flitted across Athos’s lovely lips. “Well, yes, and I am invested in that as well. Though without Ana, I could have married you myself and you would be no worse off.”

Aramis sat back. “You would do that for me, querido?”

“Of course,” he said, as if it was incredibly obvious. “I would have done before...well, you know. I can’t guarantee you would enjoy the experience, but I would have done so. I will still do so, if the situation with Ana becomes unbearable.”

Aramis treasured the offer for its existence as much as the man who made it, because he knew very well how difficult commitment was for Athos. He considered it carefully before he answered. “I think it is not, and her request makes sense. I have to admit I always assumed children would be in my future, but here I am, thirty-six, and no real wife. At what point do I say, no, it’s too late? It’s easier for women to know what the deadline is, but for a man?”

“Her need is not your need, Aramis.”

“No, I know. But on the other hand, where’s the harm?”

“Being saddled with the maintenance and care of a child whose mother you are not in a relationship with? What if you do decide to marry someone else in the future? What about those children?”

“Yes. I thought of this.” Aramis sighed and sipped his coffee, then put his cup down. “I know I want certain things. I want to be part of the child’s life. I want them to know I am their father. I want Constance involved somehow and that the child’s creation should be surrounded by love and truth. Nothing sleazy, nothing furtive.”

Athos went very still. “Constance involved...how?”

“I don’t know. But if the plan is that she is also the mother of this baby, then she should be there. If she wants to be, I mean.”

“I have no idea if she would.” Athos picked up the salt shaker and twiddled with it, turning it from side to side. Aramis watched him carefully. Nothing this man did was unworthy of attention, and his clues were often subtle. Was Constance the sticking point?

Finally Athos set the shaker down in exactly the same position where he’d found it. So he was not unduly concerned for Constance, Aramis thought.

“And, I want you to be okay with it.”

Again that swift, slight smile. “It’s your body, Aramis.”

“But you are my lover, and have a claim on it.”

Athos was not smiling now. “No. Never. You do as you wish. If you’re faithful, then it’s your choice. If you are not, then I have to decide how much it bothers me. This, with Ana or Constance, is a very private thing.”

“If I am to be a father, then you will be part of the child’s life too, and they part of yours. Do you want children of your own?”

“Not...to the point of insisting. I should also point out I don’t need your sperm for that.”

Aramis grinned. “No. Still, a child in your life, if not living with you. Please, you need to think about it.”

“I will. But I refuse to have a veto over your decision. If I can’t deal, I’ll...learn to, somehow.”

“You should talk to Porthos, maybe,” Aramis said. “Since Jules was a surprise to him.”

“Yes, good idea.”

Just the act of sitting with Athos was a balm on his soul, and Aramis felt better able to think about this intellectually, not emotionally. If he refused Ana, she could ask Athos. Or someone else, for that matter. He had to think what was right for him.

“How long before you and I can be open about our relationship, do you think?”

Athos sighed heavily. “At least two years, as I understand it. You can’t apply for permanent residency until two years after the date of the wedding. Given France’s relaxed attitude to marital infidelity, perhaps we can be slightly less surreptitious once Ana’s trust pays out, but...I don’t know. I like this as much as you do, and Constance is under immense strain. Throwing a pregnancy and a child into all that won’t help.”

“Si, this is true. I hadn’t thought about that either. You are my better brain.”

“Then you’re in more shit then I realised.”

Aramis laughed. Athos was so funny.

***********************

Ana chose a villa in the Loire valley over a three day weekend at the beginning of May for her insemination—Constance liked to refer to it in slightly more romantic terms, as did Aramis, but to Athos, this was nothing more or less than it was. The idea was for the two couples to have a relaxed couple of days to be at ease with each other, before the deed itself. He had grown used to Ana’s detailed, slightly cold-blooded approach to problems, and couldn’t fault her planning or her logic.

He couldn’t even fault what she wanted to do and why. Since she, Constance, and Aramis, were all content, Athos felt he had no right to an opinion. He did not demand monogamy and didn’t consider this infidelity. But if his feelings were demanded at gunpoint, he would, he supposed, admit to being slightly weirded out by the idea of his lover and his lover’s fake wife, and his lover’s fake wife’s real girlfriend, sharing a bed while his lover had PIV sex with the two women’s complete cooperation, without it actually being a threesome.

It helped that Aramis and Ana had become extremely close friends, and Aramis was frank in his admiration for both her and Constance. Constance was happier now Aramis had formed a relationship with Athos, and no longer inclined to think Aramis was going to steal her lover. Still, it was a massive leap from that to sharing a bed while Aramis fucked Ana.

Athos refused to be involved in that, although Aramis and Ana had both invited him with perfect friendliness and politeness. “No,” he’d told Aramis. “I will be there for you before, and I’ll be there after. Just not...during.”

Aramis kissed him and put his arms around him. “As you wish, querido.”

He drove them all in a rented car to the villa on Saturday evening. Ana had paid quite a lot of money, it seemed, to have the place set up and stocked with prepared meals and good wine in advance. All they had to do was open bottles and warm up dishes, before eating a delicious meal, and then sitting in the living room and relaxing with glasses of a good Burgundy.

Ana was not drinking, of course. The moment she’d had the idea of becoming pregnant, she had put herself on a ‘pre-pregnancy’ diet. It was strange to Athos that she had not planned this whole thing as soon as the idea of marrying Aramis had taken hold. He privately thought that the scheme to defeat her brother’s move against her had, at first, been a reaction to a nasty surprise, something she had largely avoided in her privileged life. Her husband running off with Athos’s ex had been another. Marrying Aramis was her way of rectifying these disappointing flaws in an otherwise Ana-safe universe.

Having a baby with her husband of convenience was a belated plastering over another of those defects.

Perhaps that was unkind of him, considering his own privileged background. But Athos had hardly led a charmed life by comparison, and had never been under any illusion that life would bring him nothing but happiness. The fate dealt him had left him eternally expecting disappointment and pain, and the real surprise was when it failed to turn up.

Aramis kissed him, distracting him from his thoughts about Ana, and put his hand on Athos’s crotch. “I think I would like to take you to bed and be with you while Ana and Constance get comfortable,” he breathed against Athos’s neck.

“You want me to be your fluffer.”

“What is a fluffer?”

Constance caught Athos’s eye and grinned. “Better you than me.” She stood and offered Ana her hand to help her stand. “We’re going upstairs.” She came over and kissed Athos’s cheek. “Aramis, when you’re ready, please join us?”

“Of course.

The silence that fell on them with the ladies’ departure felt awkward. Was Aramis aroused and wanting Athos, or was he simply trying to make himself ready for his performance? Athos reached for his glass and took a big gulp of wine. Looked like he wasn’t as sanguine about this business as he thought.

“ _Cheri_ , you have gone rigid,” Aramis said, stroking his arm. “If you don’t want me to do this—”

“I don’t...I mean, I don’t not want you to do this. It’s up to you. But perhaps your libido should be aimed their way, not mine, at least at the moment.”

Aramis smiled, and kissed his temple. “My libido is a blanket, not an arrow. It covers everyone I desire, not just those I love. I will have no difficulty performing for Ana. But I want to be with you first. I must just not come, that’s all. You can come as many times as you like.” He stroked Athos’s arm. “What is a fluffer?”

“The man on a porn film set who makes sure the actors are ready for action.” He drank more wine. “Perhaps you should go straight up to them.” He made to stand but Aramis held his arm, preventing him.

“You think I would use you like that?” Aramis’s brows were drawn together, and his eyes flashed with something close to anger.

“Since you’re to have sex with them and not me—”

He found himself being yanked into Aramis’s embrace, and those angry dark eyes were now very close to his. “If we go upstairs, we will be making love, no matter who comes, Athos. I am only donating semen to Ana and Constance. I can make my own fucking penis stiff if that’s all I wanted. I want you. I always want you. I want you now, because you are so perfect and handsome and strong in my arms.”

He seized Athos’s lips with his own and his hands roved as hungrily over Athos’s back as his tongue did in Athos’s mouth. Athos lay back on the couch under the onslaught, any doubts he had as to Aramis’s desire blown away in the winds of his wooing. He ground up against Aramis’s hips, needing him.

“Take me,” Aramis growled. “Fuck me here.”

“What if you come?”

“Then Ana waits another day. Do it. I need you.”

They fell off the sofa under Aramis’s need to be fucked. Athos untangled himself from Aramis’s long legs and climbed to his feet. “Over the back of the sofa,” he managed to say, trying to remember if he had lube and where it was.

Something hit him in the face. Aramis had secreted a sachet of slick in his jeans and had just thrown it at him. “Always prepared,” his lover said, grinning at his surprise. “Hurry, querido. Hold me down the way I love.”

Athos had very few instincts to dominance in sex, all of them small and undernourished, but Aramis had found each one and nurtured them, coaxing them out into the open when it suited him. Now Athos put one hand at Aramis’s neck, gripping it and kept him bent over the back of the sofa, while with the other hand, he pushed down Aramis’s unzipped jeans and underwear.

“You are not allowed to come,” he murmured against Aramis’s ear. “Hold yourself, and hold it in. You can fuck me later if you’re good.”

“Oh God,” Aramis gasped. “You want me to not come when you talk like that.”

“Be quiet and concentrate,” Athos ordered with the voice he used on d’Artagnan while sparring. This was sparring too, but of a very different kind.

Or maybe not so different. Both involved bending a clever, strong, hot, and occasionally very bloody stubborn man to his will.

He teased Aramis while prepping him, an exercise in control as much for himself as for his lover, because every time he had his hands on Aramis, his sharp need threatened to drown him.

“Now, Athos. Now. I can’t bear to wait.”

Athos thrust, and Aramis gave a little groan of pleasure. “Fuck me, my love, my heart, mi corazón, I need you. Athos, please, please....”

Aramis begging in Spanish and French, sometimes both at the same time, was beyond Athos’s ability to resist, and he didn’t even try. Over and over he thrust into Aramis while Aramis babbled, becoming less coherent and more desperate, destroying any hope Athos had of restraint, of drawing it out. He came so hard and so fast, he groaned aloud in disappointment at finishing so early.

Aramis only waited for him to withdraw before whipping around and kissing him desperately. “I love you, my heart, I love you so much,” he said against Athos’s lips, speaking and kissing, and holding him painfully tight.

“Did you come?”

“No, but only by the grace of God and my hand on my cock which I do not dare let go.”

Athos laughed when he looked down and saw Aramis’s tight grip on the poor denied organ. “You need to put on the safety.” He bent and pulled Aramis’s jeans and underpants up and helped his lover ease himself into their restraint.

Aramis rested his face against Athos’s cheek. “I need to use it where it is needed, at least these two days. Will you forgive me for abandoning you?”

“Nothing to forgive. Go with my blessing and make a beautiful child.” He kissed Aramis’s forehead. “I love you too,” he whispered.

“I will come for you upstairs, cheri. Wait for me.”

“Always.”

***********************

Ana held Constance by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Truth now, my love. Yes or no.”

“Yes, darling. Very much yes. I want this baby, and he’s a good choice.”

Ana smiled. “And...this?”

“Yes. It’s right for us, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

Ana grinned and wrapped her arms around her, hugging Constance until she squeaked. “Thank you, love. He’s obviously more than a semen-dispenser, but this is about you and me and our family.”

“He’s part of that family now too. Or he will be.” Constance had turned that idea around in her head dozens of times for the last few weeks and couldn’t find any part of her soul that was bothered by Aramis as uncle baby-daddy.

“He’s a good man. But the baby will be ours to raise, to love, to share.”

Constance put her hand on Ana’s flat stomach. “You’ll be a good mother.”

“We both will be. Now, undress me, love. You’re in charge of this, and of me.”

Constance obeyed, kissing every scrap of bared flesh as she exposed it. When Ana was naked, Constance took her by the hand and led her to the bed. She took her time arranging Ana in the position she wanted, and which they’d agreed was the most likely to get her pregnant while not being hideously embarrassing for Aramis. Then, while Ana watched, Constance slowly undressed. She stood with her breasts bared for a few moments, cupping them, for Ana to appreciate. “Do you want these, my darling?”

“Oh yes, love. Please.”

“Be patient. You can touch yourself though.” Ana’s hand went to her cunt, but her eyes remained on Constance.

With Ana gently fingering herself, Constance removed the rest of her clothes a little faster, eager to pounce on her lover and take over. Ana was wet when Constance replaced her fingers with her own, but that didn’t mean she was ready for Aramis’s prick. She leaned over Ana, letting Ana tease her nipples with her teeth. “Oh, God,” she groaned, wanting to touch herself but trying to concentrate on Ana for now.

A resolution soon forgotten as Ana declined to be passive any longer, and before long, the two of them were touching and licking and nibbling each other without any care for positions or who should come or who should not.

A few minutes later, flushed with orgasmic heat, Constance grinned down at Ana. “I thought we were going to be dignified about this for Aramis.”

“Blow Aramis.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Ana looked up at her with twitching lips, and together they said, “That’s Athos’s job.” Constance collapsed on her in a fit of giggles.

Ana gave her a couple of minutes to calm down. “Right. Shall we tidy up and pretend to be prim and proper mothers-to-be for our sperm donor?”

***********************

When he entered the ladies’ bedroom after knocking diffidently at the door, Aramis found them sitting in bed next to each other, the covers up over their breasts. “Hello,” Constance said with a smile. “Are you ready for us?”

“Yes. If you need more time....”

“No, we’re fine,” Ana said. “We don’t want to make this a long drawn out thing.”

Aramis quite understood Ana and Constance’s desire for the physical intimacy between him and Ana to be as brief as possible. It was, after all, about the baby, not sex. But before he positioned himself, he said, “My dear friends, I wish you to know that you are as dear to me as sisters, and that this is an act of love, even if it is not love-making.”

Ana held out her hand to him, and drew him down to the bed and close to her, so she could kiss his cheek. Constance kissed him on the other at the same time. “You are kinder and dearer to me than my own brother,” Ana said, “and I love you for this and your friendship.”

“And I love you for that too,” Constance murmured. “We want you in our life and to be the father of our child forever, not just until it’s no longer a game.”

He let them hold him, his arms sliding around their waists, until he felt they were ready. “Shall we, my darlings?”

The act itself was brief and efficient, with Constance sitting behind Ana’s shoulders and holding her hands while Aramis penetrated Ana. Aramis willed his seed to work, to make a strong, healthy child in Ana’s womb, and prayed with each thrust that God would grant this joy to them.

Afterwards, Constance pointed to a bathrobe. Ana smiled at him as he put it on. “Thank you.”

“You are both welcome.” He bowed, gathered his clothes, and took his leave. He went to the bathroom to clean up before returning to his and Athos’s bedroom.

His lover was lying facing the door, quite nude, and Aramis had to stop and drink his fill of the sight. Athos put his hand on his cock, stroking it lazily. “See something you like?”

“Very much.” Aramis let the bathrobe and the bundle of clothes fall to the ground, then strode over to the bed and pounced, covering Athos with his body and greedily seizing his mouth. Athos tasted of the wine they had been drinking, and the spices from the meal. Warm, generous, welcoming. “I have been good. May I have my reward?”

“I thought you already were.” Athos’s hand stole between them and found Aramis’s cock. “Think you can get it up another time, old man?”

“Bobo. I am six months older, not sixty years.”

Athos raised an insolent eyebrow and smirked at him. “Prove it.” Then he yelped as Aramis rose and flipped him, pinning him down on his front this time.

“By the time I’m finished, querido, you will be the one feeling old.”

***********************

Much to Athos’s relief, the weekend turned out to be far more pleasant and less awkward than he’d feared, and with a good deal more sex with Aramis than he had dared hope for. On the return to Paris, the two couples split and reformed like chromosomes in mitosis, and Constance appeared to be well content with all that had happened.

“How long before you, er...?” Athos asked as politely as he could once they were back in the apartment and sharing a cup of herbal tea before bed..

“She’s not going to do the pee test for a month,” she said. “But of course anything could happen even if it’s positive.”

“Which means....”

She gave him a wry look. “Yes, we might have to do this more than once. Several more times, in fact. Will that bother you?”

“Me? Not at all. But you two. You three, I should say. How would you feel?”

She smiled serenely. “Fine. It was nice. Lovely, actually. Aramis was so gentle and sweet. Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“Not any more,” he answered honestly. “There’s nothing wrong with using a clinic, but since you don’t have that option, then I’m glad it can be something that adds to the friendship.”

“It does. I feel so close to him now, like he’s another brother. The child will be mine as much as Ana’s, and he’ll be its father, and that’s good.”

He reached across the table for her hand. “You’ll be the best mother I can imagine.”

“Do you really think so? I’m not sure I can be patient enough with a child.”

He snorted. “Constance, you handle d’Artagnan. I’m certain you can handle any other infant.” She laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

Athos was more relieved than he could say that the sperm donation had not damaged his relationship with Aramis or Constance. Now he wanted to get on with his life and getting closer to his lover.

Aramis had no intention of becoming a full time photographer, and had been reaching out to magazines and newspapers, thus far with a little success, though not enough. He’d had an idea he’d been talking about for a little while—a photo essay about the studio, and the popularity of Latin dance in Paris. He had been talking informally to students and to a couple of the clubs about permissions and themes, and was ready to start taking photos and setting up shoots when candid shots would not do.

Athos gave him the go-ahead, and now, when he wasn’t teaching, Aramis silently stalked both tutors and students as they moved around the studio, catching them at their most graceful, and most vulnerable. Athos was a favourite subject, and Aramis even persuaded him to perform after hours, both solo and with Constance, dancing to the music and lost in the familiar rhythms of steps and sound.

Aramis showed him those shots, and Athos was astonished how tall and elegant Aramis had made him appear. “Are you sure you haven’t manipulated these?”

“Don’t be a bobo, bobo,” Aramis said, kissing him. “You are very beautiful.”

“You have a broken camera, I think.”

Aramis laughed and hugged him.

He’d also managed to get Athos to agree to him photographing the lunchtime fencing sessions, though these might not make it into the final essay, he said. The ones of Ana and Constance slow-dancing together, definitely wouldn’t, though Porthos dancing with his tiny daughter, and Jules escorting his step-mother Elodie around the studio floor, would be, and treasured by the parents as well. “Should pay you for these,” Porthos said as he looked at the prints.

“Don’t you even dare,” Aramis said.

“Good thing I’m the businessman in this family,” Athos said, winking at his big friend. Porthos chuckled at Aramis’s disgusted face.

Aramis’s photography only increased his already absurd popularity among the students. He liked them all, but they adored him. Athos would have been offended at their blatant preference for Aramis over him, if he didn’t feel the same.

The only downside was a small bit of unpleasantness when after a class, one of the women students buttonholed Aramis and drew him aside for a private chat. Aramis listened, then appeared to refuse whatever she had suggested, and after a little more conversation with waving hands and angry expression, the woman had stormed off, and out of the studio altogether. Athos walked over. “Problem?”

“Unfortunately. Marguerite seems to have formed something of a crush on me. I did nothing to encourage it, I swear.”

“Except be you,” Athos said. Aramis frowned. “Admit it. Your concentrated Aramisness is hard for the average human to withstand.”

“This isn’t funny, Athos.”

“It is a little.”

“No. Because now she is upset and hurt that I won’t go for a drink with her. I tried to tell her, I’m married and am not available, but she claimed she meant no harm. I think she won’t come back,” he added sadly.

“She’s a grown woman, Aramis, and you did nothing wrong. Forget about it. It happens.”

“But she was upset.”

“She’ll get over it. If she comes back, I’ll ask her to leave. We’re not running a knocking shop.”

“What?”

“A brothel.”

“You have some unpleasant expressions, mi amor,” he muttered. Athos wished he could soothe his rattled nerves in a more direct fashion, but they were being watched, not least of all by Philippe d’Espana’s pet spy.

“Go take a break before the next class. Have some tea or something.”

Aramis gave him a hard look, then stalked off to the kitchen. Athos caught d’Artagnan’s quizzical expression, and shrugged. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. Not with the staff he had.

Neither ‘P’ word—pregnancy or pee—was mentioned by anyone, although it was coming up to the one month anniversary of the impregnation retreat, and Athos found himself slightly on edge, waiting. He didn’t know why—he wanted it a successful result—but he wasn’t sure how he would react either way. Mostly he just wanted it settled.

Almost one month to the day, Aramis and Athos were teaching the last Saturday class, while d’Artagnan prepared to leave, and Constance was helping him clear up, when the studio doors were slammed open, and in marched four police officers with guns and a man in a suit. Students shrieked and ran to the corners of the room, but Athos took off his headpiece and stood his ground.

“Gentlemen? What do you want?”

“Are you Aramis d’Herblay?”

“I am,” Aramis said, stepping forward. “What is all this?”

“Aramis d’Herblay, I am placing you under arrest on suspicion of immigration fraud.”

Constance, behind Athos, gasped, while d’Artagnan watched the police officers with a furious expression as they cuffed Aramis. “Tell Ana,” Aramis said to Athos who nodded. His lover’s eyes were afraid, but his spine was erect and proud.

“Where are you taking him?” Athos demanded.

“You are?”

“Athos de la Fère. His employer.”

“You are not authorised to have that information, _monsieur_. Please stand aside.”

Athos clenched his fists as Aramis was hauled out of the room. “Call Ana,” he bit out to an ashen-faced Constance. “Tell her to get a good lawyer, one experienced in immigration law. If she doesn’t have one, I know a couple.”

The students were in shocked huddles, whispering, and one or two even crying. _Monsieur_ Rochefort stared back at Athos, as if daring him to call him out. “Class is cancelled,” Athos said. “We’ll advise about a makeup class when Aramis returns. This is all a mistake, and I would appreciate your support and discretion, ladies and gentlemen.”

D’Artagnan took charge of ushering the students out. Athos didn’t trust himself not to punch their spy if he came near him, so he retreated to the kitchen to try and calm himself.

Constance came in a couple of minutes later. “Ana will call her lawyer, Ninon de Larroque. She’s good.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of her. I’ll see if I can find another to help Aramis if he needs it.”

She sat and took his hands. “Why now?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced at the place where he’d found the listening device. “Ana will be heartbroken.”

“Furious, at the moment. Why don’t you go home? I’ll meet you up there in a few minutes.”

Athos took the hint, and she joined him in their apartment shortly afterwards. “I want to rip that man’s head off his shoulders,” she snapped as Athos made them tea.

“It won’t help,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. Because he wasn’t calm at all. “The good news is that the recordings he has of us in the studio are illegal, so he can’t have used them. It will all be about what he’s seen of us and him in public. Ana will be questioned, so she better be ready for this.”

“She’s always ready,” Constance said, giving him a thin smile. Her phone rang. “Hello, love...you’re joking. Bloody hell. Athos said he can find another lawyer to help Ninon...okay. Do you want me to come over?...no, I suppose not. Athos needs me anyway.” Athos frowned at her, but she shook her head. “I love you. It’ll be all right.”

She closed the call and hugged the phone as if seeking comfort. “She’s just been suspended because of a suspected involvement in a marriage scam. She’s been told to go home. She doesn’t want me to go over there until this is sorted out because of...well, you know.”

“Yes, probably wise.” Athos’s chest was so tight he thought he might faint. He sat down abruptly.

“Athos, are you—”

“No.”

“Oh, darling.” She took his hand. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure it will be.”

He could only look at her and wonder where on earth this certainty came from.

***********************

Over the next few hours, they learned Aramis was being held at a detention facility, and that Ana could not see him. She was only to be interviewed on Monday, which made Athos frantic at the idea of his lover stuck in a prison over the weekend without a soul to comfort him. He called his own lawyer to see if he could do anything to hurry things along, and was told that he could do nothing as he was not a party to the case.

All he could do was fret, let Porthos try to comfort him over the phone, and Constance comfort him in person. What did they have now that they hadn’t had before? What fresh evidence?

He resisted brandy because it upset Constance and disappointed Aramis when he was drunk,  but that made sleep elusive. At two am on Monday morning he was still staring at the ceiling and wondering what he would do if Aramis was deported, and if following him back to Argentina could possibly work.

He jumped at the knock on the door, then turned the light on. “Come in, Constance.”

She slipped in, as hollow-eyed as him. “Can I sleep with you? I’m so worried, and I can’t stop thinking.”

Silently he raised the covers and she slid in under them, wrapping herself around him. He turned the light off and felt for her hand. “Bad night for you,” she said.

“Plural. Nights.”

“I don’t see how what Ana and Aramis have done is so different from any other couple. They care for each other, they’re making a child together, sharing a life, and they do love each other in their own way. How many people have less, and claim they’re properly married? The law says nothing about romance, and God knows, most French men don’t care about having a bit on the side. It’s hypocrisy.”

“Yes. And greed. Her brother’s greed.”

“I really hate him, you know. It’s wrong to hate, but I hate him.”

“Perhaps Ana could just give up on the inheritance. It’s not worth it.”

“No. But then he wins. I’m sorry, Athos. This is all my fault.”

He pulled her closer and tucked her head under his chin. “Go to sleep, and don’t be silly.”

Today was crunch time. He just had to get through it somehow.

***********************

Constance’s presence helped him sleep a few hours. Still, Athos rose with a heavy head and a heavier heart. Fortunately Monday was their closed day, because Athos was incapable of teaching, nor of doing anything that required thinking.

“Give me a fencing lesson,” Constance ordered after breakfast.

“Constance, I don’t think I can—”

“Lesson. Now. It’ll take your mind off it, because if you cut me, I’ll gut you like a fish,” she said with a sweet smile.

“You are a horrible woman, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Move.”

It helped. She was a natural just like her brother, albeit with less experience, and good enough to keep him on his toes, relying on instincts instead of considered decision. She was much cooler than d’Artagnan, much better at using her head, and today, better than Athos himself at that. She flogged the pair of them up and down the studio until they both ran with sweat, and while they stopped for water, Constance’s phone rang.

“Ana? How did it go?...Oh thank God. But he’s not...okay. Love you.” She put the phone down. “The interview with the judge went well, but there’s no more news.”

“But what is the new information?”

“She didn’t say. I’m sure she dealt with it.”

Athos gave her a sour look. “No offence, dear, but I’d rather put my trust in a lawyer’s opinion than your girlfriend’s.”

Constance’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “She’s not stupid, and deals with lawyers all day. If she says it went well, it did. We just have to wait.”

“While Aramis rots.”

“Athos.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be okay when he gets out.”

“If.”

“When. Positive thinking, Athos.”

“Have you met me?”

She sighed. “Just try, darling.”

It wasn’t until five that afternoon that Ana called Constance. Athos watched her listening, then hang up without saying anything. He didn’t dare ask.

“He’s home.” Then she flung her arms around his neck. “He’s home and safe.”

“Thank God,” Athos murmured against his hair.

“We’re to go over immediately. Ana’s buying cake, Porthos and Elodie are bringing beer, and Charles is supplying pizza. Speaking of which, you haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“Haven’t I? Why are we standing here instead of moving downstairs, Constance?”

She grinned. “Come on, lover boy.”

Aramis had just finished showering when they arrived, but hadn’t yet shaved. Athos, charging past Ana in search of his lover, didn’t give a fuck, pinning Aramis against the bathroom wall and kissing him breathless. “Are you all right? Are you okay?”

“Now I am. I’m fine, querido.”

“Tell me what happened.” He dragged Aramis into his bedroom and pushed him down on the bed. “What did they have?”

“Mostly nothing, just talking about the visa and Ana’s grandfather’s trust. But they had a photo of me and Marguerite.”

“Who the hell is Marguerite?”

“That woman. The one who got upset. With the crush.”

“Her? How did they get a photo of the two of you? And what were you doing?”

Aramis sighed. “It was a close up of our faces, while we were dancing the tango, I guess. One of her friends must have taken it, or the spy did. She was claiming we were having an affair.”

“That bloody—”

“Language,” Aramis said, smiling tiredly. “I think Rochefort put her up to it. Only he could have given it to the authorities.”

“Yes. He better not show his face in the studio again.”

“I hope he does. I want to punch him in the nose.”

“There’s already a queue.” Athos kissed his cheek. “Tired?”

“Didn’t sleep much. You?”

“Same. Did Ana tell you what the judge asked about?”

“No. She wants to tell everyone at the same time. I don’t care as long as this is it. I do not wish to go back to that place.”

Athos kissed him again and wished he could promise it was over, but this had come out of the blue and he had no idea what other concocted evidence Ana’s brother or his agent would give to the police. “I wonder if I should let you out in public at all,” he murmured.

“Can I be your kept boy, Athos? Chain me to the bed and make me serve you naked?”

Athos blinked. “Er...if you like.”

Aramis laughed. “I’m joking. Your face is beautiful though. The sheer terror is hilarious.”

“Arse. Why did I miss you at all?”

“Because you love me,” Aramis said simply. “And I love you. Can we have a little nap before Ana’s revelation? Are you hungry?”

“Yes, but not enough to move. Go to sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

Aramis stroked his hair. “You I trust the most in the whole world. I know I am safe with you.”

***********************

By the time all of their friends were squeezed into Ana’s living room, everyone almost had to breathe in sync to avoid suffocation. Athos was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, and Aramis was in his lap with an arm firmly around his shoulders, and holding Athos’s hand. When Constance politely asked if they’d be more comfortable on the sofa, Athos actually growled at her, and Aramis bared his teeth. “Okay, gentlemen. No need to be like that.”

“Sorry, cherie,” Aramis said, expression softening. “But I do not intend to be out of his reach for a second.”

“I do not intend to allow him to be out of my reach,” Athos said, not smiling.

Ana reached for Constance and made her sit next to her. “I know the feeling,” she said, kissing the back of her neck. “Has everyone got a drink? Food?” Charles held up a slice of the pizza he and Lucie had brought, and Porthos lifted a glass of the beer he and Elodie had supplied. “So, shall I start?”

“Stop milking it, darling,” Constance murmured.

Ana grinned. “Very well. So I had to go to this appalling building to be interviewed, and wait with all the other poor souls. God, it was awful. People crying, kids clinging to their mothers, everyone so desperate. I felt like such a fraud being there.” Athos noisily cleared his throat. “Yes, well, point taken,” she added, giving him a stern look. “Anyway, I was called in, and the judge was a woman, so I knew I had to be sharp.”

“Women are harder to fool,” Porthos muttered.

“Definitely,” Ana said, nodding at him. “So the first thing she said was, ‘We have received information that you only married Aramis d’Herblay so he could obtain French residency.’ I looked the woman in the eye and said, ‘Yes, of course.’”

A groan ran around the room, and Constance stared at Ana in astonishment. “I added ‘and to receive money from my grandfather’s trust.’ Of course, she pounced on that. ‘You admit it is a marriage of convenience then?’”

Ana paused, and Constance nudged her. “Stop being dramatic.”

“Sorry, love. I said, ‘No, I admit the marriage is convenient. Otherwise I would simply live with the one I love. Ninon advised me to always tell the truth,” she added in an aside to Athos, who only lifted an eyebrow at her. “Then I said, ‘But as Aramis did need a visa to stay with me, and getting married would solve two problems, and neither of us had any objection to that, we decided to do so. Being married brings legal benefits. It’s not illegal to take advantage of that, is it?’ I gave her my most innocent look.”

“It’s a good thing you’re white,” Porthos growled. “You’d never get away with that if you was black.”

Ana looked down, her cheeks flushed. “No, I know. I’m sorry—”

“Just get on with it,” he said. Elodie held him tighter.

“What did she say to that?” Constance prompted.

“Um, nothing. So I jumped in and demanded to know how long they planned to keep my husband and why he could not come home as we had done nothing wrong. She said, ‘We have evidence to show your husband is having an affair with another woman.’ I just laughed at her.”

“Marguerite,” Aramis said, his expression stormy. “She claimed we were having an affair, and showed them pictures of the two of us. They were cropped from when I was teaching her. I demanded to see the originals, since I knew they were fake, but they wouldn’t let me.” Athos turned his face into Aramis’s neck and murmured something too low for Constance to hear.

Ana nodded. “They didn’t say who it was, but they showed me the photos too, and I recognised her from the classes. I said she was a student who was known to have a crush on Aramis, and that there would be dozens of photos of him looking at women like that because it’s how he teaches. I said, ‘You can even find pictures of him giving his boss soppy looks.’”

That made Athos smile, and Aramis a little happier. “Did she believe you?” Athos said.

“I think she expected me to be shocked or something. I went on a bit about how the tango and the other dances created a romantic atmosphere and it was nearly impossible not to appear closer than reality while dancing them, until she held up her hand, and asked me to stop. I pointed out that even if Aramis was having an affair, it didn’t bother me. She said, ‘Do you know Anne de Winter?”

Athos went rigid. Aramis petted his cheek and whispered to him.

“‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She’s the bitch who took my husband away from me.’ The judge just gave me this horrified look. ‘What does Madame de Winter say?’ She told me that the bitch claimed Constance was my girlfriend. I laughed. ‘Constance is not just my closest female friend, but my closest friend full stop. I’ve known her nearly as long as my ex-husband. She helped me through a horrible divorce, and she’s dearer to me than even my own mother. She lives with her business partner.’”

Ana spread her hands. “See? No lies there. The judge sort of shoved the statement aside. ‘There is still the question of the suspiciously convenient timing of this marriage, when you needed money from this trust and Aramis needed a visa.’ I was ready for her though, and handed over my bank statements and tax returns for this year. ‘My family are the banking d’Espanas of Madrid,’ I said. ‘As you can see, I don’t need the money, and there is no hurry for me to marry. As for Aramis, he already had a visa. He is an award-winning photographer. Here is his CV.’ So I handed that over and she read your credentials, darling. Her eyes got sooo big. You impressed the hell out of her.”

Aramis smiled. “You are very kind, my wife.”

“Not even a little bit, my husband. So she puts the CV in her file, and looks at me. ‘How often do the two of you have sex?’ and I said, completely truthfully, ‘As often as possible.’”

Charles let out a giggle before quickly clamping his hand over his mouth. Constance kicked his foot but couldn’t stop her own grin. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Ana asked them all.

“Quite true,” Aramis said gravely, although he was smiling now.

“I offered to tell her about all the positions we used and she went red and told me that wouldn’t be necessary. Then I used my trump card. I said, ‘May I show you something?’ And when she nodded, I reached into my handbag, and pulled out this.”

She reached down beside the sofa and pulled up a white stick. Constance put her hand over her mouth. Could it be?

“I put it on the table and said, ‘I’m pregnant with his child. So will you please send him home because this baby needs its father.’”

Constance stared. Aramis stared. Charles whooped. “I’m gonna be an uncle!”

Constance flung her arms around Ana. “Really? You’re really pregnant?”

“Yes. I suspected I was but I did the test the day Aramis was arrested, so I didn’t want to say anything until things were clearer, and besides, I wanted to tell you both at the same time. The test was all the proof I needed. She ended the interview, said the authorities be in touch, and a few hours later I got the call that you were being released, Aramis. I’m so sorry you went through all that.”

Aramis untangled himself from Athos and stood. He went to Ana and bent and kissed her forehead. “Congratulations, mamacita.” Then he kissed Constance’s cheek. “You too, querida.”

“Thank you,” Constance said, grabbing his hand.

“Don’t get too excited,” Ana said, though she was smiling. “Anything can go wrong. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow to have things checked out, and I guess Aramis and Constance will have to go to childbirth classes with me and so on, but at least we have you home, darling. It’s not home without you.”

“No, it’s not. You’re family now,” Constance said.

“The older brother I never got to have,” Charles said, which made Constance all warm inside.

Porthos held up his beer. “A toast to Ana, Constance, Aramis, and a safe pregnancy.”

“Hear, hear,” Athos said, smiling at Constance. Athos was family too, had been for years. All that had changed was that they were now even closer, which was exactly what she wanted.

***********************

Porthos and Elodie couldn’t stay too late, nor could Lucie, but Athos made them wait. “I need to warn you all not to say anything about Ana’s pregnancy.”

“Why not?” Constance asked.

“Because the only thing standing between Philippe and Ana’s inheritance is a next of kin closer than him if she dies. At the moment it’s Aramis. Once the baby is born, it’s Aramis and the child. If I was Philippe, and desperate enough, I’d make a move to kill Aramis before the child arrives.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Athos,” Porthos said.

“No one would...what am I saying? People do that kind of stuff all the time,” Elodie said.

“I wish I could say he wouldn’t, but I don’t know the man he has become,” Ana said, her lips thin and tight. “But at some point, I won’t be able to hide it anyway.” Constance put her arm around Ana’s waist and held her close.

“We only have to keep you safe until the baby is born,” Athos said. “If Aramis dies after that, then as I understand it, the trust will still pay out, and the baby inherits in the case of your death. I don’t know if your brother would cavil at killing an unrelated adult man in his way, but he would be more reluctant to kill a baby of his bloodline, let alone a sister. One would hope, anyway. You need to get Ninon to make a will which is bulletproof in the event of the death of you and your child, and make sure Philippe knows he will get nothing if you both die under mysterious circumstances.”

“Your mind works in the weirdest ways, Athos,” d’Artagnan said.

He only spared his protege a sharp glance for that remark. “I’ve been forced to learn that these things are necessary. We must be careful if we want to keep these precious three safe.”

“And on that cheerful note,” Lucie said, linking her arm with her partner’s.

“Yeah. Goodnight, kinda,” d’Artagnan said.

After the others left, Athos turned to Ana. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“No. You have only said what is true, and made a necessary warning.”

“Does Rochefort still live in this building?” Constance asked Ana.

“Yes. At least he did last week. Why?”

“Maybe we should arrange for him to have a little accident, that’s all.”

“Constance, no,” Athos said, though he understood the temptation. “Leave him alone. But Aramis? Don’t go anywhere without someone else, if possible, and try to be with Ana if she has to go out at night. Ana, carry a rape alarm, make sure your phone is always charged, don’t accept invitations from people you don’t know, all the usual things.”

“I have been on an anti-kidnapping course a couple of times, Athos. My family’s money has always made me a target.”

“Good. I mean, good that you did the course....” She waved his apology away. “In the meantime, I think someone should be set to watch the watcher. I’ll get onto that. The rest of you, keep away from him.”

“Not even one little punch?” Constance said.

“Not even a shovette. I suppose we can’t stay here tonight,” he said. “Not a good look.”

Aramis gave him a mournful look. “It’s okay. I’ll come to the studio in the morning.”

“Only if you’re up to it.” Athos kissed him. “Love you,” he murmured.

“And you, always.”

Constance held Athos’s hand as they walked back to his apartment. “Maybe Philippe will give up after this,” she said.

“Possibly. But he really is in deep financial difficulties. That kind of thing can make people do appalling things to those they love.”

She shivered. “There has to be a way to stop him.”

“There may well be. Let’s think on it. With your brains and my beauty, how can we go wrong?”

She laughed. “How indeed?”

***********************

Whatever other flaws he had, Aramis had always been excellent at multitasking, and he needed all his ability now as his attention was split in so many ways. Waiting anxiously as Ana’s pregnancy progressed, hoping that it would not end in miscarriage. Trying to find moments to spend with Athos, away from prying eyes. Looking for photographic contracts. Learning more about teaching dance.

Oh and the big one—watching out for assassins.

“I am really looking forward to August,” he said with a sigh to Athos one June evening. The two of them had snatched half an hour before the last class of the day, up in Athos’s apartment. “I’m starting to twitch at every shadow, every stranger at the edge of my vision.”

“And I can’t even be beside you to help,” Athos said, kissing his temple. “It’s maddening. Both of us can handle ourselves against ordinary street crime but a focussed attack?”

“Would he really—”

“Yes he would really,” Athos said with some impatience. “I told you. Rochefort has form. He’s crazy like a fox and a nasty piece of work. The fact that he’s still coming to your class tells you how lacking in shame he is.”

“But he doesn’t know that we know, right?”

“That I can tell, no.” Athos snuggled closer against him, and Aramis put his hand on his chest so he could feel his lover’s generous heart under his fingers. “Marry me. When this is all over. As soon as you can divorce Ana, marry me.”

“Of course. But I want to get away from Paris when we do. Just you and me for a few weeks. Can you manage it?”

“For you I can.” Athos lifted Aramis’s hand to his mouth so he could nibble his fingertips. “What did _Paris Match_ say?”

“They were interested, definitely. The editor suggested a couple more shots which would make the essay stronger. I think they will take it if I do that.”

“That’s excellent news. Heard from Marsac?”

“No. Still nothing. Porthos is furious, of course.”

“Don’t blame him. Damn it, is that the time?”

Aramis looked at the clock. “Sadly, yes.”

“Then we better go.” Athos sat up, then got to his feet. He offered his hand to Aramis. “Bring your movie camera.”

“To class?”

“Why not? You never know what you might have a chance to shoot.”

Aramis narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Athos was up to something.

The last class was perfectly ordinary. M. Rochefort was there as usual, giving his instructors his full attention. Athos was always punctiliously polite to the man, which was a sign of how much he loathed him. Aramis tried not to interact with him at all, for fear of losing his temper.

Ana turned up halfway through, as she once had done all the time. Less so now, with the increased risk. Aramis wasn’t happy she was putting herself in danger just for a few minutes conversation with Constance, and he would bet Constance wasn’t happy either. The two women sat at the desk, watching.

Waiting, he thought.

The class ended. D’Artagnan, who was still there, unusually for this lesson, and was quick to shoo all the students out of the door.

All but M. Rochefort. D’Artagnan shut and locked the door before the man could leave. “What is the meaning of this?” Rochefort asked in his voice that always held a sneer in it.

“We wanted to have a word with you, _monsieur_. Since this will be your last lesson at The Garrison,” Athos said, walking over. For some reason, he was holding his epée loosely in his hand. D’Artagnan too, was now holding his sword.

And so now was Constance.

Aramis went over to the shelf where he had put his movie camera, and got into a position. He had an idea that this was what Athos wanted him to film. At the other side of the room, Ana held up her phone, also filming.

“Is it indeed, _Monsieur_ de la Fère? I was unaware I had cancelled my classes.”

Athos circled the man, forcing him to turn to watch him. Aramis shivered at the way Athos stalked his prey. “I cancelled them, _monsieur_. I do not wish to have a criminal—a violent criminal at that—in this studio.”

“I am no such thing. Let me leave at once. This is outrageous.”

“Not a criminal, you say? Your police record says something different. It’s a very ugly document. Assault, extortion, attempted rape? You were in prison for five years on that last charge. I call that violent criminality. Don’t you?”

Rochefort simply watched him with narrowed eyes, not responding.

“And then there is Marguerite du Sel.” Rochefort jerked. “Oh yes. Did you think we wouldn’t ask how that odd photo of Aramis came into the police’s possession, not to mention a quite false affidavit claiming she was having an affair with him?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, _monsieur_.”

“Don’t you,” Athos drawled. He poked Rochefort in the chest with his epée, making the man flinch. “Let’s be frank with each other, _monsieur_. We know you work for Philippe d’Espana, who may or may not be aware of your criminal record. We know that you forced Marguerite to swear that affidavit with threats of violence and blackmail. She has gone to the police this evening to confess her lie, and to accuse you of inducing her to make a false statement in the first place. I suspect the police will want to talk to you about that.”

“You’re lying. Bluffing.”

“Not at all.” Constance walked over, swishing her epée. “I have a particularly loathing of men who hurt women, _monsieur_.” She put her blade under his jaw, forcing him to lift his head. “We are recording this not for you, or the police, but for Philippe d’Espana. You see, we want him to get the message as well as you. We know who you are, and what you’ve been up to, and we have from the beginning. You will now understand that if the smallest thing happens to Ana d’Espana or Aramis d’Herblay—if they even suffer a paper cut—it will be you the police will look for. And it will be Philippe d’Espana’s name splashed all over the papers exposing the financial problems he has tried so hard to kept quiet, and all the scandalous details of how he has tried to cheat and defraud his own sister, and. His own pregnant sister.”

Rochefort appeared to be struck dumb.

“Yes, she’s pregnant by her husband. Her lawful husband. Philippe d’Espana will cease paying you to spy on her. You will remove yourself from her apartment building this very evening. And if you come anywhere near any of the people I love again....” She leaned in close, the blade of her sword still at his jaw, ”I will cut your throat.”

She slashed the sword away and he cried out in fright, though he had not in fact been cut. “You can’t talk to me like this!”

“No? I think you’ll find we can,” Athos said.

“And mean every word of it,” d’Artagnan growled, moving in behind the man, making him whip around in terror. “I’ve got a few friends in the police who don’t like creeps like you. Trust me, they’ll enjoy arresting you.”

“Now you will leave this studio, and you will go to your apartment where, if the police aren’t waiting for you, you will pack and leave this night,” Athos said. Rochefort turned again and Athos poked him hard in the chest with the epée. “I suggest you go right back to Spain and never set foot in Paris again because the next time I see you, I won’t have a tip on my weapon. Do you understand?”

Rochefort nodded frantically.

“Then go!” Athos bellowed, and the man ran like the hounds of hell were behind him, slipping a little in his panic, to the studio door.

Which was still locked. He stood with his back against it, expression terrified. D’Artagnan walked over, nudged him aside with his epée blade, and unlocked it. “ _Adieu_ , _monsieur_ ,” he said politely, and held the door open.

Rochefort fled.

D’Artagnan locked the door again and turned to grin at them all. “That was fun.”

Aramis stopped filming, put the camera down, went over to Athos, and gripped his shoulders. “You are a little shit.” Then he kissed the grinning mouth.

Athos’s arms went around him, and neither of them said anything for some time.

***********************

“Send that to Porthos,” Athos heard d’Artagnan say. “He’ll be sorry he missed all the fun.”

“Doing it now,” Ana said.

Athos released Aramis, though kept hold of his hand. “I need a drink.”

“Me too,” Aramis said. “Though a cigarette is more traditional.” Athos smiled.

“No smoking in the studio,” Constance said.

“But champagne is okay, right?”

They all looked at Ana in confusion. She bent behind the desk and produced an insulated bag which she opened, pulling out a bottle of Dom Perignon. “I hope this would be needed.”

“Charles, glasses,” Constance said, and he ran to get them.

“Music,” Aramis murmured.

“I’ll connect my phone to the stereo,” Athos said. “That’s where I hide all the good stuff.”

***********************

A few minutes later, the champagne—and Ana’s Perrier—sat ignored in glasses on the desk, although Charles sipped his as he watched the couples slow dancing to “[De cara a la Pared](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_N_FQuSeuo)”. Constance held Ana close, her cheek against her lover’s, relishing the feel of Ana’s slightly rounded stomach against her own, her breasts already a little fuller.

“You were so hot holding that sword on him,” Ana murmured. “You were making me wet.”

“Thanks. I was kind of wet while I was doing it.”

“You dirty girl,” Ana purred.

“ _Your_ dirty girl, my love. Want to take this upstairs, and see what else gets me wet?” She laughed as Ana promptly grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the door.

***********************

“Wow,” d’Artagnan said after the studio door closed behind his sister and Ana.

Aramis’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Inexhaustible.”

Athos swung him around. “We’ll see how true that is in a few months’ time, papa.”

“Perhaps. You want to follow them?”

“No. I want to dance with you, my love. We never get a chance to. Not just for us.”

“True.”

The stereo system in the studio was top drawer, but rarely used because of d’Artagnan’s ingenious headphone set-up. Lhasa’s exquisite husky voice echoed around the empty studio, filling it with an irresistible invitation to sway with your lover, to hold them against you, and feel their heart against yours. Athos never played this stuff for class. His students didn’t want to be taught how to hold their lover like this, to listen to them breathing, feel their hips in rhythm with their own. This wasn’t music to impress. This was music to make love to.

The studio door banged. Athos looked at Aramis for an explanation. “The puppy has run home.”

“You mean we’re all alone?”

“Quite alone. And you are all mine, mi amor.”

Athos pressed up against Aramis. “Then there’s something I want from you.”

“Oh yes? Ask and it is yours.”

“Dance for me. Dance the tango.”

“But I dance the tango all the time for you.”

“No. You dance for the class. Never for me. Let me watch you dance just for me.”

“Alone?”

Athos smiled. “You are never alone, when I am there.”

Aramis kissed his forehead. “Choose your tanda, mi corazón.”

Athos broke away from him and went to the stereo tuner to find the three songs he wanted Aramis dance to. When he turned around, Aramis had stripped off his shirt and was now standing bare-chested. Athos sucked in a breath, and adjusted the studio lighting so there was only one spotlight in the room.

On Aramis.

Then he hit ‘play’.

Aramis slow stepped across the floor, hips forward and swaying, shoulders back, spine straight, head flung back as he turned. His eyes never left Athos’s as his body moved sinuously, tempting the watcher to come and taste what he had. His chest rippled as he twirled and stamped, stalking, retreating, one hand across himself as if holding a partner, the other held up imperiously, commanding.

Commanding Athos.

Aramis extended his hand to Athos, and gave an urgent flick with his fingers.

_Come here._

Athos came, and Aramis took him into his arms, barely faltering in a single step before they found their rhythm, Athos against Aramis’s bare and beautiful skin. Aramis’s fierce dark eyes refused to release Athos so he could linger on the pulse throbbing in Aramis’s long neck, or admire his unruly, glossy hair.

No, Aramis wanted Athos’s gaze on him, Athos’s chest against him, Athos’s hands tight in Aramis’s grasp. No question who was leading this time, and Athos had never been happier to follow.

When the tanda ended, they stood together, swaying. “Are you still living in fear, mi amor?” Aramis whispered.

“You took that line [from a movie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strictly_Ballroom), just so you know I know you did.”

Aramis chuckled. “But of course. How could you not know a film that good about Latin dancing?”

“You’re a fraud. Are you even Argentinian at all?”

“Ah, you’ve got me. Really, I am a bastard Frenchman who picked up his Spanish growing up in a knocking shop in Spain.”

Athos poked him. “Bobo.”

“Si. We are both idiotas. But I am your idiot.”

“But I wanted a pony.”

Aramis grinned. “I think it’s time you went to bed, Athos.”

“But I’m not sleepy, Aramis.”

“That’s good. I have no intention of sleeping right now.”

Aramis began to lead him to the door, but allowed Athos to swerve to turn off the stereo and the spotlight, and collect his phone. “You were amazing tonight,” he said as Athos locked up. “I think he might have shit himself a little.”

“I certainly hope so. No more lives lived in fear for any reason, not if I can help it.”

Aramis captured him again, tilting his chin up for a kiss. “Muchas gracias, mi valiente amor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find anything about what happens to people accused of fake marriage in France, but you might be interested in [what the Americans do in this kind of situation](https://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/world/north-america/i-paid-my-husband-to-marry-me-and-it-s-pretty-common-20180607-p4zjzf.html). It's pretty horrible.


End file.
